


The One Where Peter is Bucky's Weakness

by JinxQuickfoot



Series: Weaknesses [19]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Peter Parker Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Shuri Friendship, Bucky Barnes & T'Challa Friendship, Civil War Fix-It, Genius Shuri (Marvel), Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Peter Parker, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Peter Parker & Shuri Friendship, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Tony Stark & T'Challa Friendship, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23544727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxQuickfoot/pseuds/JinxQuickfoot
Summary: Bucky was returning to one of the small apartments Wakanda kept as safe houses in the States, when he was greeted by a tied-up teenager in the middle of his living room, staring at him with wide, panicked, deep brown eyes.----------------------------------------------------------------------------Bucky doesn't recognise the teenager someone has dropped off in his apartment, but that's not going to stop him from protecting Peter Parker at all costs.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Shuri, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & T'Challa
Series: Weaknesses [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672462
Comments: 640
Kudos: 1967
Collections: Download fics, Weaknesses





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YikesBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YikesBean/gifts).



> Day 19 of the "Weaknesses" writing challenge
> 
> As requested by YikesBean
> 
> [Come say hi on Tumblr - I take requests!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jinxquickfoot)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The fic itself is Chapters 1 - 15. Chapters 16 - 17 are fanart.

Bucky Barnes had managed to have a reasonably normal day.

He had woken like clockwork at 6 am, rolling out bed into his morning workout routine, sixty minutes that he pushed himself through before checking the burner phone by his bedside table. There was nothing, but that was good news. T’Challa or Steve would only call if it was an emergency. Still, it had been four days, and he already found himself missing their voices.

But it had been necessary. Stark had been coming to visit - something about bringing an intern to work with Shuri for a week. T’Challa had assured Bucky that Stark wouldn’t find him, but Bucky didn’t want to compromise the king’s position more than he already had.

So he had moved out here, to a small industrial city that’s biggest accomplishment was being “Home of the Largest Teapot Collection in the Southwest.”

The city’s only saving grace was that it was known to have a pretty decent farmer’s market, and Bucky was returning to one of the small apartments Wakanda kept as safe houses in the States, when he was greeted by a tied-up teenager in the middle of his living room, staring at him with wide, panicked, deep brown eyes.

Bucky immediately went on defence mode, dropping his groceries and scanning the apartment for enemies. Only after was he sure it was clear did he make his way back to the living room, being sure to approach from where the teenager could see him. The kid's hands were bound behind him, with a thick metal wrapped around his ankles and mouth. 

Bucky held up his hand, showing he wasn’t holding a weapon. “Ok kid,” he said slowly. “l don’t know what’s going on, but if you try anything when I get close to you, if this is a trap…”

Confusion filled the huge brown eyes, and he struggled to move back as Bucky started to make his way towards him. “Hey, calm down,” Bucky said, keeping his voice low. “Whoever did this to you - it wasn’t me. Ok? I’m just as lost as you are. So why don’t I get that thing off your mouth and we can talk?”

There was a pause, and then the teenager nodded. “Good. I’m going to come over now, ok?”

Keeping one eye on the doors and windows, Bucky made his way over to the boy, kneeling at his side. Now he was closer, he could see that the kid’s hands weren’t just bound - they were encased in a thick silver metal started at his wrists and covered his fingers.

Bucky decided to start with the metal fixed around the captive’s mouth - at least he could get some answers. On closer inspection, he could see that the gag was at least an inch thick, with no discernible lock or clasp.

“Alright. This might hurt a bit, ok?”

Bucky gripped the gag the best he could and pulled. Nothing happened.

_What the hell?_ Even without the metal arm, he should be strong enough to break it. He tried the metal on the kid’s arms and legs as well. Nothing. 

_Shuri._ Shuri would know. “Ok,” Bucky told the teenager. “I can’t break the restraints.” He saw the panic flare in the large eyes, and quickly added. “But I know someone who can. I need to go to the bedroom to call her, ok? Then I’m going to come straight back. Nod if you understand”

The teenager nodded. Bucky squeezed his shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way before he hurried to the bedroom, grabbing the burner phone. He had gotten as far as pulling up Shuri’s number before a gunshot was followed by the sound of breaking glass.

_The kid._ Bucky dashed back to the living room to see the teenager attempting to worm his way back along the carpet, away from the smoking hole an inch from his head.

A second shot rang out and Bucky was moving, dragging the bound teen into the kitchen, giving them shelter behind the kitchen counter as more shots rang out. He saw where the teenager’s t-shirt had ridden up in the process, leaving a nasty carpet burn up his side.

“Sorry,” Bucky murmured, tugging his shirt back down. “Better than a bullet wound.”

He still had an arm around the teenager’s chest, hugging him to his side as he reached into the cupboard under the sink and grabbed a gun and spare rounds, tucking ammunition into his pockets as he prepared the weapon. The teenager started to squirm in his grasp, but Bucky tightened his grip, stopping him from slipping into the gunmen’s view again.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Bucky insisted. “Same side - remember?”

The words made the teenager still. Bucky exhaled, calculating what to do. One thing was obvious - they couldn’t stay where they were. Bucky looked down at the kid’s securely bound feet. “We have to move,” he told him.

The teenager looked up at him in horror. “I know,” Bucky said quickly. “I’m going to carry you.”

He saw the teenager looking at Bucky’s missing arm. “I’ll be fine,” Bucky continued. “I’m strong.” Carrying the kid meant that he wouldn’t be able to use the gun, but there was not a lot he could do about that. He tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans, then gathered the teenager over his shoulder and ran. 

***

Tony Stark had managed to have a reasonably bearable day.

There hadn’t been many of those in the past year. Between Stark Industries stocks falling after Ultron, after the numerous press releases where he heard the name of a certain blue-eyed soldier he’d rather forget, and every night being filled with nightmares of wormholes and flying cities and a red, white and blue shield smashing into an arc reactor, Tony had felt like he was drifting from one calamity to another, with only brief gaps filled with endless cups coffee and overwhelming self-doubt.

Only two things had kept him going. Pepper had moved back in, giving him another chance he was sure he didn’t deserve - with conditions.

The other was the puppy of a teenager that had started dropping by Tony’s labs every Friday afternoon. 

At first, Tony felt he had owed it to the kid. After the Homecoming fiasco and dragging him into a Civil War the kid had no business being in, the least Tony could do was actually make sure Peter was learning something from his ‘internship’. He had suggested Peter drop by to work on the Spider-Man suit, and that had led to them to working on various other projects Peter had thought of, which somehow (and Tony had no idea how this had happened) had led to them eating takeout from Peter’s favourite Mexican place, watching Star Wars and swapping theories.

Tony was in his suite of rooms in Wakanda when the phone call came.

Tony had found that he liked Wakanda. A lot. He had never been to Disneyland, but he imagined this is what it must feel like. The technology alone was enough to send him straight to heaven. He admitted he was met with a fair bit of distrust by the Wakanda court when he first arrived, but he had been careful to be on his best behaviour, and in a few days, some of the air of suspicion around him had cleared. He sensed that the wide-eyed, enthusiastic teenager that accompanied him may have had a lot to do with that. 

Tony had also found that he liked T’Challa. There had been an alliance between the two men ever since they had found themselves fighting on the same side during the Accords, but their relationship had since progressed further than that.

There were very few people that Tony automatically liked. Bruce Banner had been one - Pepper another. His other relationships were earned only after the other party had proved themselves worthy of Tony’s time and attention, and that they willing to put up with the snark and the ego and nicknames in return for the billionaire’s friendship.

Tony and T’Challa had worked side-by-side to restore some faith in what remained of the Avengers after the Accords, and Tony had offered him rooms in the compound for his use whenever he was in town. About a fortnight after Tony had returned from Siberia, T’challa had paid a visit to Tony’s workshop, only to find Tony leaned over his workbench with his head in his arms.

“I apologise if I am interrupting,” T’Challa had said, making Tony’s head shoot up. Usually, anyone who caught him in such a state would be greeted with a barrage of snarky comments about privacy and respect, but T’Challa’s easy posture made Tony pause. 

“Not at all,” Tony said quickly, reassembling his features into what he hoped with a casual smile. “What do you need?”

“I will need to return to my people soon,” T’Challa said, taking a seat by Tony’s side.

“Oh.” Of course, that made sense. T’Challa was a king, after all, now that his father had passed.

“I had intended to already be gone,” T’Challa admitted. “There are duties that cannot wait much longer.”

“I understand.”

“But they can wait a short while.”

Tony’s eyes had narrowed, trying to decipher T’Challa’s meaning. “If you need to go, go,” he had said, not unkindly. “I’m not sure what you can do here that you can’t do from Wakanda.”

“It seems as though the press has not yet relented on the Accords,” T’Challa continued. “I was thinking perhaps that is a war one needs allies for.” When Tony still didn’t follow, T’Challa had added, “I could take a number of the upcoming press conferences on the subject off your hands.”

Tony had stared at him disbelief, automatically scanning for the ulterior motive, and saw none. The offer was tempting - Tony felt worn down to the bone, still not fully recovered from his injuries from Siberia, and the constant press banging on his door demanding answers to questions he’d rather not think about hadn’t helped. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he told T’Challa.

T’Challa bridged the gap between them and grasped Tony’s hand. “It is already done. Miss Potts has made the arrangements.”

Relief had crashed over Tony, a small piece of the burden on his shoulders lifting. “Thank you,” he had said, and meant it.

After Wakanda had opened itself up the world, Tony had been invited to visit T’Challa in return. T’Challa had mentioned a younger sister he thought Tony would have “some interesting conversations with”, and Tony asked in response if the invitation extended to a young and promising intern he had under his wing.

Tony answered the phone from his Wakandan suite. “Did I mess up the time difference again, Pep? Because I know I promised to check regularly twice a day but jet lag’s a bitch - ”

The person on the other end hung up.

Tony frowned, checking the caller I.D. - blocked. Then he froze, the phone call bringing to his attention the photos that had been texted through to him.

Peter.

Peter, bound and gagged in an apartment he didn’t recognise. Peter, eyes wide and terrified, the Winter Soldier standing over him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic got...a lot of hits. Cool cool cool. No pressure or anything, right?
> 
> But seriously thank you. I write for you. Please enjoy x

The gunshots followed them as Bucky sprinted down the stairway, hearing panicked screams and shouting from the other apartments in the building. He adjusted his grip on the teenager, holding the boy against his chest to protect his head. He could hear the kid’s panicked breathing and for a wild moment he was barreling down the streets of Brooklyn, and it was Steve in his arms instead, gasping for air as Bucky sprinted home to his closest friend’s emergency inhaler.

The gunfire was getting closer. “Hold on, kid!” Bucky clutched the teenager as tightly as he could before launching himself over the edge of the stairwell, dropping the final four stories to the ground floor. With his only arm supporting the kid, he barely kept his balance, but he righted himself and shoved his way into the next stairwell, the one that led to the parking garage.

The leap down the stairs had given him a lead. The garage was quiet and mercifully empty as he sprinted towards the nondescript sedan T’Challa had arranged for Bucky's week in the States.

“Gotta put you down for a sec,” Bucky panted as he deposited the teenager against the car, as gently as he could. The boy’s face was scarlet, and he was struggling to catch his breath, only being able to breathe through his nose. Bucky wanted nothing more to offer comfort, but he could hear footsteps and voices fast approaching, so instead he dug out his car keys and wrenched open the sedan’s trunk.

The teenager’s eyes went wide, shaking his head in protest as Bucky wrapped his arm around his waist to pull him to his feet. He struggled with more strength than Bucky would have thought possible, but Bucky leaned him against the car as the voices echoed through the stairway, getting closer with every second.

“I'm sorry,” Bucky said in a low voice. “But I can’t drive through town with you looking like this, ok? It’s just until we get somewhere safe - then I’ll let you out. I promise.”

The door to the stairwell burst open, giving the teenager just enough time to get Bucky a brave nod before Bucky was tossing him in the car trunk and slamming it shut as bullets peppered the parking garage.

Bucky threw himself into the driver’s seat, revving the engine into gear and tearing out the parking garage as the back window shattered. _So much for not drawing attention._

Bucky veered onto the main road, narrowly missing a pair of joggers who screamed as he screeched past them. He winced in sympathy for the teenager no doubt being thrown around in the back, unable to defend himself. _Better than a bullet wound._

The thought wasn’t much comfort. Bucky ran a red light, thankful that the cops in this town were more suited to breaking up bar fights and giving parking tickets than high-speed car chases. He spared a glance in the rearview mirror. It didn’t seem like anyone was following him - for now.

The second Bucky hit the edge of the town, speeding out onto the highway, he cooled the erratic driving, only pushing the speed limit by five. He needed to ditch this car - no doubt they would already be tracking his number plate - but that could wait. First, he needed to get this kid somewhere remote enough that he could get those damn metal bands off. 

He felt the comforting outline of the burner phone in his pocket. He couldn’t use it while driving, but the moment there was distance between him and the city, at least he had people he could call. Even though his heart wanted to hear Steve's voice, he knew his first point of contact had to be T’Challa, to ask for immediate extraction. Wakanda could have an aircraft to them in a matter of hours, and he was sure Shuri would know how to free the kid. _And then you can talk to Steve after._

Bucky drove north for an hour, staying on the main highway, until he saw a side road that looked empty. He hadn’t stopped checking his mirrors, and only when he was sure there was no one behind did he pull over, immediately going to the trunk and ripping it open.

“Oh, kid,” Bucky breathed.

Something had collided with the side of the teenager’s head, and dried blood crusted one side of his face. His t-shirt had ridden up, twisting around his chest during the drive, exposing the mass of bruising over his stomach and ribs. Bucky went to tug the shirt back down. The teenager let him, but stiffened at his touch.

“Sorry,” Bucky murmured. “But I think I lost them. So I’m going to put you in the backseat now, ok? You can be on the floor, wedged in between the chairs so you won't roll around when I'm driving. I’ll make it as comfortable as I can.”

The kid was staring at the sky, clearly holding back tears. “You need a minute?” The kid nodded.

“Ok,” Bucky said gently. “I’m going to make a couple of phone calls now - friends. They’re going to send us help. It’ll be over soon.”

He made his way around the front of the car, perching in the driver’s seat as he pulled out the burner phone. He regretfully scrolled past Steve’s name and landed on T’Challa’s, hitting call. He breathed a sigh of relief as it started to ring.

It rang several times. “Come on,” Bucky muttered, tapping his foot against car floor.

A dial tone. No answer.

Bucky tried again. Then he tried Shuri. Then T’Challa again.

Dial tones.

_Ok. Don’t panic. They probably just can’t answer the phone right now._

After a couple more tries, Bucky went back into the contacts list, and dialled Steve. He answered on the first ring. “Bucky?”

Bucky leaned back in the driver’s seat, closing his eyes in relief.

He didn’t see the car coming until it was too late.

The serum in his blood took over, kicking his survival instincts into overdrive. At the sight of the car barreling towards him, Bucky threw himself into the passenger seat, wrapping his arm around his head and tucking it into his chest as the rogue car slammed into the sedan with a scream of crunching metal, sending glass flying in all directions.

_Get to the kid, Barnes. Now._

Bucky unwrapped himself and dived forward, ignoring the glass shards embedded in his arm and side as he kicked in what remained of the driver’s side window and wrenched his way through it. The rogue car was backing up, getting ready to ram them a second time.

Bucky ripped himself through the smashed window, ignoring a flash of pain in his ribs as the glass tore through his shirt and pierced skin. It would heal.

He stumbled to the back of the car, prepared to haul the kid out to safety, when he saw the car coming to hit them a second time.

There wasn’t time to pull the teenager to safety, so Bucky took the only other course of action he could see. Instead of pulling the teenager from the trunk, he leapt into it, wrapping his body around the kid’s and pulling him tight against him as the sedan was hit for the second time. There was the sensation of flying and spinning and then an intense pain flared as darkness rushed up to greet him.

***

_Peter._

They sent more photos after the first. Barnes holding the kid to his chest, a gun in his hand. Barnes carrying him from a building, jumping down more flights of stairs than should be possible. Barnes dumping Peter in the trunk of a car, the kid’s eyes wide and terrified.

Tony had seen enough. He was already moving, attaching the nano housing unit to his chest and snatching up his glasses. He transferred the photos from his phone to the holo-display as he sprinted from the bedroom.  


“F.R.I.D.A.Y? I need a trace on these photos now. Use the number plate.” 

Tony made his way towards T’Challa’s quarters, taking a couple of wrong turns on the way and cursing at every one - the palace was a maze if you weren’t used to it.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s Irish tones rang in his ear. “I have tracked the number plate to approximately twenty miles out of Provo.”

That almost stopped Tony in his tracks. “How the hell did the kid get to _Utah?_ ”

“Unclear, Boss.”

“Yeah, unclear is one word for it. Patch me through to Rhodey.”

“Colonel Rhodes is currently on an Avengers-related mission dictated by the Accords. He is not available to contact.”

Tony let forth a colorful stream of curses that made a passing Wakandan shoot him a disdainful look. Tony muttered a quick apology as he asked, “Vision?”

“On the same mission.”

“Ok, just me and the big cat then. We’ll make do."

Tony finally found his way to T’Challa’s suite of rooms and was about to bang on the door when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He froze as he saw that the blocked number had sent another batch of photos.

_Please,_ Tony found himself begging - whom, he didn’t know. _Don’t let it be more photos of Peter. Don’t let Barnes have hurt him._

It wasn’t photos of Peter. Tony would have breathed a sigh of relief, if the scenes the photos showed weren't equally devastating, albeit in a different way.

They were photos of T’Challa.

T’Challa with Barnes. T’Challa and Barnes in Shuri’s workshop. T’Challa showing Barnes a small hut on Wakanda land. T’Challa waking Barnes from cryosleep, his hand on his shoulder, helping him stand.

Tony stopped dead in his tracks, his hand hovering in the air, a second away from knocking on the door of the man he had thought was his friend.

When was he going to learn? Obidiah, Rogers…why would the Wakandan king be any different?

His father’s voice surfaced, unbidden, in his mind. _You’re a Stark, Tony. And that means people are always going to want things from you. People are going to always try to use you. People are going to try to be your friend for your mind and your money, not because they like you. Ok?_

“Yeah, Dad, I got it,” Tony breathed. He lowered his hand.

He was in the skies minutes later, his coordinates set for the American southwest.

_Hold on, kid. I’m coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Peter, I'm so sorry. It's only going to get worse.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That graphic violence warning? Refers to one sentence in this chapter. I figured better safe than sorry.

The darkness was almost blissful. No pain, no fear, just peace.

Then it was gone, and Bucky was rushing back to consciousness, and his body was screaming at him to _move, move, move._

_No,_ a small part of him protested. _Just let me stay here. Just let me rest._

Then he felt the warmth of another soaking into his arms, and he remembered. His eyes flew open as he tried to move, to assess the damage, only to find a weight crushing down on his back.

There was a flare of panic before his military training kicked in. He could still move his legs, his arm wrapped around the teenager, but he couldn’t sit up. He quickly checked the kid’s pulse. It was going a thousand miles a minute but it was strong, and he could feel his breath on his hand when he held it under his nose.

“I got you,” Bucky managed. He craned his head but couldn’t see past the teenager’s brown curls. “I need to know if you’re hurt. Shake for no; nod for yes.”

There was a brief pause, and then the kid shook his head. Bucky doubted that was entirely true, but that meant his next priority was getting them free and moving away from the car.

Bucky tried to get his bearings. The ground beneath them was dust and gravel, not metal. From his limited vantage point, Bucky deduced that the car had been flipped with them still in the trunk, throwing them onto the road with the sedan landing on top of them, pinning them beneath the wreck.

Bucky could feel fire along his skin and legs when glass and gravel had pierced or scraped skin, but he could deal with that later. His best bet would have been to try and throw the car off them, but his arm was pinned underneath the teenager. Bucky tried to tug it out, but to no avail. He tried lifting the car with his legs instead, but couldn’t worm himself into an angle where he could push the car away from them.

“Ok, kid,” Bucky panted, trying to ignore the overpowering scents of blood and engine oil. “I can get the car off us - but I’m going to need my arm back. Is there enough space in front of you to roll forward?” Bucky felt the kid nod. “Ok. Good. Can you do that for me?”

Another nod. The kid pressed harder against Bucky, using him a springboard, pressing his shoulder against him and using the momentum to push himself off Bucky’s arm. He didn’t get all the way, landing in the crook of Bucky’s elbow. The move landed him so that Bucky could see his face. _Jesus, that’s a lot of blood._

They made eye contact, and Bucky gave the teenager a reassuring nod. “Nice work, kid. I’m going to do the rest, ok?”

Slowly but surely, Bucky wormed his arm out from underneath the kid. The kid squeezed his eyes shut as every moment jostled him. Bucky prayed that the teenager hadn’t sustained any injuries beyond the surface ones he could see, and resolved to check him over properly the second he could.

The moment he was free, Bucky turned onto his back and braced his arm against the car. He lifted, his muscles screaming at him to stop, but he managed to move the vehicle a foot or so off the ground. He didn't have enough space to push it off them entirely though, and he lowered it back down.

“Ok.” Bucky tried to catch his breath, thinking fast. “You listening, kid?”

The teenager nodded.

“I’m going to lift - you’re going to move. Get as clear from the car as you can. Got it?”

The kid hesitated, then nodded again, his face set.

“On three. One…two…three!”

Bucky heaved against the car, lifting it back up as the teenager immediately began to shimmy along the ground, pressing the soles of his battered trainers against the gravel as he slowly made his way towards the gap Bucky was making for him.

The kid didn’t pause until his head was at the edge of the car, looking back at Bucky, eyes wide, questioning. “Go!” Bucky gasped. “I’m not going to drop it on you - I promise. I’m strong, remember?”

A flash of terror passed over the teenager’s face as he regarded the sharp edge of the car that he was around to put his head and neck under, but then he swallowed, and continued to move.

_That’s one brave kid._ Bucky focussed on his breath, trying to ignore the pain that was building through his wrist and shoulder. The kid was only out up to his shoulders, his pace agonisingly slow as the bound teenager continued to wriggle and push his way to freedom.

Bucky didn’t take his eyes off him for a moment, reminding himself of the consequences of dropping the car too soon even as the tendons in his shoulder started to burn with the discomfort. _I’ll heal_ , he reminded himself. _The kid won’t._

The second the worn sneakers were free of the car, Bucky let go, flattening himself to the road as the weight settled back over him. _Ok. The kid’s free. Your turn, Barnes._

His shoulder screamed at him to stop as he put it back against the car, trying to think this through. He had definitely torn something there, and he couldn’t exactly wait around for it heal.Even if he did, he couldn’t get in a position where he had the leverage to move the car enough to get himself out.

As Bucky lay on his back, debating the problem, he heard a loud groan of metal. He barely had time to process it before there was a metallic clang and then the car was rolling off him, having been thrown back with force.

_What the hell?_

Bucky scrambled away from the car, and saw the teenager lying on his back, feet in the air, trying to catch his breath.

“Kid?” Bucky asked. “Did you…did you just _kick a car over?”_

The teenager nodded, then shrugged as though it was no big deal.

“Damn,” Bucky breathed. So the restraints weren’t just ones Bucky couldn’t break. They were meant to contain this kid as well, whatever he was. Another super soldier? No. The kid might have the strength of a super-soldier, but he didn’t exactly look like one. Unless this was a new formula?

_Now’s not the time._ Bucky scrabbled to his feet, massaging his shoulder and surveying the scene around them. The sedan was a wreck, nothing but crumpled metal and shattered glass - but it wasn’t the only one.

The rogue car was in the middle of the road, its front bumper and windshield destroyed, smoke rising from the wrecked engine. 

There was someone in the driver’s seat.

Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Bucky lifted the kid off the road, away from both cars. “I need to go look at the other car. I’ll be back.”

The kid gave him a nod, rolling from his stomach onto his side. Bucky couldn’t help notice the kid trying to rearrange his shoulders even a little bit, and winced in sympathy. It had been well over an hour since Bucky had first found the teenager in his apartment, and he didn’t know how long the kid had been restrained before then. He had to be in a substantial amount of pain from the restraints by now.

Bucky strode towards the rogue car, a cold fury brewing in his chest. Whoever had done this to the kid was going to pay.

Starting with the driver of this car.

Bucky was halfway there when that fury turned to confusion. The driver was slumped over the wheel, her long dark hair spilling over the dashboard. Bucky sprinted the rest of the way, his boots crunching over the smashed glass littering the road. He pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans as he approached, aiming it at the driver.

“Hey!”

The driver stirred as Bucky approached, and Bucky paused. Even past the blood on her forehead, Bucky could tell that she was barely older than the kid. Worse, she also had a thick metal band clamped over her mouth.

Bucky holstered the gun and crossed the rest of the distance to the car. The girl was handcuffed to the steering wheel. Bucky reached over and tried to break the cuffs - nothing.

The girl was looking at him urgently, her fingers pointing at the gag.

“I don’t think I can take it off.” Bucky reached for it anyway, but the girl whipped her head out of his reach, still pointing, desperately trying to tell him something. Who the hell was sending all these tied up teenagers his way? 

“It’s going to be ok,” Bucky promised her. “I’m going to unchain your hands and get you away from the car, and then -”

The explosion was sudden and violent. One moment the girl was staring at him with desperate, pleading eyes, and the next her jaw was hanging off her face by a thread.

Bucky lurched away from the car, his stomach roiling. He didn’t need to check if she was dead. He could see.

He gave himself a second to vomit, then moved back to the wreck of a sedan, searching for the burner phone.

He found it - smashed beyond repair.

No time to dwell on it. He ran back to the kid. “Kid, we gotta go. Ready?”

The kid nodded, exhaustion written all over his body. Bucky gathered the teenager over his damaged shoulder and started to run.

***

Tony barely remembered the flight to Utah. His thoughts were full of Peter and what might be happening to him, and so he shoved them to the back of his mind with god knows what else was there. It was getting crowded back there.

So he kept himself in the moment, just focussing on the next move as he touched down in the industrial town. The second he hit the ground, he remembered that he didn’t have clearance to be there. People were already sprinting out of buildings, recording him on phones and no doubt uploading the image of red and gold straight to the internet. It wasn’t going to take long for this to get back to Ross.

_Shit. That isn’t good._

A problem for another time. Peter first.

It wasn’t hard to get the story from the local police. A one-armed man had been staying in the building a few days, keeping to himself. That morning, gunfire had been heard through the building, and then the man had been seen careening through the streets in an old sedan. He’d fled the town, nearly killing two pedestrians on the way.

The reports hadn’t included any mention of a teenager with him. Tony recalled the photo of Barnes loading Peter into a car trunk, and it took all his remaining self-control not to punch a hole through the wall.

There had been nothing in Barnes’s apartment except some spare clothes and fresh groceries scattered across the nondescript carpet.

The groceries had been oddly surreal. Brown paper bags next to corn and leeks and fresh plums. The Winter Soldier. Grocery shopping. Tony couldn’t reconcile the two in his mind. As if Barnes was just…a guy.

He guessed what he was going to see when his phone pinged, but he didn’t stop his heart growing erratic as he unlocked the screen.

No photos from the blocked number this time - just a message. One word.

_Hurry._

The nanites covered Tony’s face as he prepared to fly. They were just groceries.

Even murderers needed to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And things grow worse,


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you for all your comments! You are all far too kind.

Bucky had been running for nearly an hour before he saw something that wasn’tscrubland and desert.

Trees.

He blinked, not quite sure what he was seeing. Trees in the desert - a whole forest of them. And not just a forest, but a symmetrical one, with the trees spaced evenly apart. 

_Probably growing them for wood_ , his mind supplied, but even then something didn’t sit right. Still, trees meant cover, and that was better than being out in the open like this. Bucky headed for the forest.

When he was well inside the tree-line, grateful for the shade the branches provided, he set the teenager down against one of the trunks. The poor kid was a mess; pale, blood crusted down the side of his face. Bucky wished he water to wash it off - he wished he had water period. That was going to become a problem very soon.

The kid’s eyes were closed when Bucky put him down, only opening when Bucky said, “Quick break," going wide when he saw the trees.

“Yeah, weird, right?” Bucky said. “But at least we’re out of the sun.”

Now that he wasn’t moving, he was really beginning to feel thirst catching up with him. His shoulder was still aching - carrying the teenager for so long hadn’t given it a chance to heal.

“Ten minutes, ok? We could both use a breather.”

The teenager didn’t even nod, just slumped back against the tree, squeezing his eyes shut again. “Hey.” Bucky moved so he was next to the kid. “Are you hurt?”

The kid shook his head.

“I’m going to check anyway. That ok?” When he didn’t get a response, he added. “Kid, I need to know if you’re ok. So I’m going to lift up your shirt and have a look - but I’d rather have your permission to do that. Alright?”

There was a beat of silence. Then the teenager nodded.  


“Thank you. Ok, ready? This might hurt a bit.” Bucky slid the teenager’s shirt up, expecting to see that horrible palette of black and blue. 

There was nothing. Not even the carpet burn from the apartment remained.

Bucky let out a low whistle. “So super strong and an accelerated healing factor. Kid, I need to know - are you a super soldier?”

The kid’s eyes went wide again, then he shook his head.

“It’s not the serum?”

Confused, the kid shook his head again.

“You were born like this?”

A head shake.

“Made like this? Like Captain America?”

The kid shrugged, both nodding and shaking his head.

“It’s complicated, huh?”

The kid smacked his head against the tree in frustration. “Hey, hey, don’t do that.” Bucky placed his hand between the teenager’s head and the tree trunk, catching him before he could hit his head again, and a thought occurred to him.

“So you’re strong. I’m strong. These restraints are strong enough to keep you or me from breaking them, but they might not withstand both of us.”

The kid’s eyes lit up, quickly replaced by caution, as though he didn’t quite dare hope. “Ok…” Bucky surveyed the metal restraints. The ones around the kid’s hands were more of an encasing, difficult to get a grip on, and the one around his head…

The image of the driver with her missing jaw flashed across Bucky’s mind. Did the thing on the kid’s mouth have the capacity to…

Bucky didn’t even want to consider that. He looked down at the teenager’s feet instead. “Let’s start with your legs. You try to force them apart - I’ll pull. Ready?”

The kid nodded eagerly, pushing himself back against the tree for leverage. Bucky braced his legs against the forest floor and grabbed the metal band, tensing. “Ready? _Go!_ ”

Bucky pulled as hard as he could, wincing as it agitated his shoulder. He could see the kid straining himself, trying to rip his legs apart.

The band didn’t give an inch.

When it was clear nothing was going to happen, Bucky let go. The teenager shot him a look, his eyes pleading with him to keep going.

“It’s not breaking, kid,” Bucky said softly. “I’m sorry. But we’ll keep moving,” he hurried on. “Those friends I told you about? The ones who can help? I just need access to a phone and they’ll be on their way in a heartbeat.”

The kid was staring up at the trees as he nodded. “Five more minutes?” The kid nodded again.

“Ok.” Bucky sat cross-legged on the ground, gently rotating his shoulder, trying to find the least painful position. “Sorry I keep calling you kid. You’re not really a kid, are you? You’re what, sixteen?”

The teenager shook his head. “Older?” Another shake. “Younger? Fifteen?” The kid nodded.

_Jesus Christ._ “We didn’t really time for an introduction. I’m…” Bucky hesitated. The name he had been staying under had been Michael Smith, but he didn’t feel like lying to the kid. But he wasn’t sure the revelation that he was travelling with a supposedly dead Howling Commando from the 1940s was going to be much comfort either. “I’m James,” Bucky settled on. “I could try and guess your name. We got to do something on the walk to find a phone. Is it a name I could guess?”

The kid nodded. He was still staring at the sky, eyes a blink away from overflowing.

“Well, that’s a good start. A way to pass the time, yeah? Kid?”

Nothing.

“Kid, you are healed, right? You’re not hurt? Somewhere on the inside?”

Slowly, the kid shook his head. “But something’s wrong?”  _Idiot. Of course something is wrong. You know better than anyone what it’s like to not have control of your body, not being able to move or speak or even piss without permission._

Oh.

“Kid? Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

The tears overflowed as the teenager’s face turned scarlet. Bucky exhaled as he got to his feet. The movement seemed to send the kid further into panic mode, because suddenly he was fighting the restraints with everything he had, sliding down the tree as he strained to get free.

“Kid! Hey! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Bucky managed to get his arm around the thrashing teenager and gather him to his chest, even as he fought back. “This isn’t helping! Kid? You need to listen to me. You could dislocate a shoulder doing that, ok?”

That finally got the teenager to still. He slumped back into Bucky, and Bucky felt wetness on his hand as tears the kid had probably been holding onto since the apartment finally came spilling out.

Bucky adjusted them so the kid was comfortable as he could make him given the circumstances. “I get it,” Bucky murmured. “I know it sounds odd, but I really get it. There was a time in my life - not that long ago actually - where I didn’t have a say in where I went or what I said either.”

The kid’s breathing calmed a little, the flow of tears slowing. “It was…” Bucky hesitated. He’d never talked about this before, not even to Steve. He had given him and Shuri the details they had needed to get Hydra out of his head for good, but he hadn’t really talked about it, not like this.

“It was hell,” Bucky whispered. “There was a time when I didn’t remember much of it, but over time, it’s come back. Pretty much all of it. I did some horrible things for some horrible people, and I remember every one of them.”

It was all coming out now, and Bucky was talking to more himself than the teenager in his lap. “But not just that. Not just the missions. I remember the in-between times as well. There was this black mask they made me wear…more like a muzzle. It was suffocating. And there was a part of me that rebelled, every time they put it on, but that part was never strong enough to stop them. And whenever it was on, it was a part of me until they decided to take it off. Sometimes immediately after the mission was done. But other times they’d leave it on; hours, days. And I’d just have to wait. For someone to decide when I could be free again.” _Until a familiar face had torn it right off._

“Not that I was ever free. Not until…” He caught himself. The poor kid was probably busting. “Sorry. Bathroom break. Let’s do this.” Bucky felt the kid stiffen. “We’ll make it as quick as possible, ok? You ready?”

Bucky shuffled out from under the teenager, a whole host of new problems going through his mind. He had hoped this would be over in a few hours, but even if he found a phone quickly, somehow managed to contact Steve or someone in Wakanda, it would still be hours before they found them. Bucky had begun to feel the grumblings of hunger an hour ago, but he was so used to that it was easy to ignore. He doubted the kid felt the same.

_How the hell am I going to feed him?_

One problem at a time. Buck took a deep breath, then tugged the teenager’s trousers down to his knees, purposely looking away, trying to give the kid as much dignity and privacy as he could, given the situation. Then he hoisted the kid into a kneeling position, giving him support as the teenager relieved himself. When he heard him finish, he lifted him to a new patch of earth and manoeuvred the trousers back into place. He started to blush himself as he fumbled with the button of the kid’s jeans. He could manage so well with one arm by now that he barely even thought about it, but some things still gave him trouble; the occasion painful reminder of what he had lost.

He finally got the button done up. “There. See? Easy.” The kid was the color of cherries, eyes scrunched up in humiliation and shame. “Are you ready to go?”

The kid didn’t give a response. Bucky exhaled, not wanting to pick the teenager up again without consent; not wanting to remove the little control the boy had left over his situation. 

“These trees are definitely here by design, yeah? That means there has to be someone out here maintaining them. People mean buildings. Buildings mean phones. Phones mean help. The sooner we move the sooner we get there. Ok?”

Still nothing. “Kid? I’m not going to touch you without you telling me its ok. So I need you to tell me I can lift you up again so we can get moving.”

One eye cracked open. And the teenager nodded.

“Thank you,” Bucky sighed, scooping the teenager over his shoulder once more. “I’m going to guess your name now, ok? Kick me when I get it right. Let’s start with…Miles?”

_***_

_“Kid? It’s 2 am. What are you doing?”_

_May was out of town for the week, and somehow Tony had ended up playing babysitter. He had grumbled about it, mostly to disguise the fact that he was secretly looking forward to the company._

_That feeling was new. Despite his life in the public eye and old playboy ways, Tony was never more at peace than when he was alone in his workshop, or in one-on-one situations with Pepper or Rhodey. He’d often find excuses to leave parties and sneak away with a beautiful woman just so there wouldn’t be any more small talk._

_But over the past few years, that had changed. Tony had grown used to having people around him. First in the tower, then in the compound, he had adjusted to finding Steve in the gym or Clint dropping in from the vents or Bruce in his workshop, worrying on a problem Tony had posed the night before._

_And then they were gone. The lack of legal Avengers meant that Rhodey and Vision were often busy running missions under the Accords, and Pepper had a company to run. Even Happy was usually too busy to drop in, spending his days looking after Queen’s friendly neighbourhood Spider-man._

_Friday afternoons had turned from something Tony saw as an obligation to the best part of his week, even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit that, even to himself. Peter would rush in the doors overflowing with excitement, dumping his schoolbag with wild abandon and immediately asking Tony to show off his newest creation, or enthusiastically showing off his own, or regaling Tony with his latest story of a prevented mugging or retrieved puppy or thwarted a bank robbery. (That had only happened once, and the way the kid had described swanning into a hostage situation with four gunmen had made Tony’s already weakened heart stop.)_

_“You’re the reason I’m going gray, kid.”_

_“Actually I think that’s just old age.”_

Smartass.

_“Wonder he gets that from?” Pepper had teased him when he told her._

_“Kid?”_

_Peter spun around, having the decency to look sheepish as Tony’s eyes raked the spare pieces of machinery scattered over a workbench. “Mr Stark! Did I wake you?”_

_Goddamnit, did the kid always have to be considerate? “Walls are soundproofed.” Tony tapped his palm against one. “Otherwise no-one in this place would sleep, ever. What are you doing up?”_

_“I had an idea.” Even though he was shuffling his feet, head bowed, Tony couldn’t help notice the gleam of excitement in his eyes._

_“It couldn’t wait until morning?”_

_“No?”_

_“Yeah,” Tony conceded. “I know the feeling. Want to run me through it?”_

_Instead of his usual puppy-like enthusiasm, the kid turned scarlet. “Um…it’s pretty dumb. No, scratch that. It’s really dumb.”_

_Tony suddenly had an unwanted flashback of standing at his father’s workstation, trying to hide his latest creation, insisting it wasn’t ready yet, only for his dad to take it anyway, making sure his son wasn’t ‘wasting time’ on ‘silly toys’._

Time is finite, Tony. Only make what is useful and profitable. Ok?

_“Fine, it’s dumb. Show me anyway.”_

_“I really don’t -”_

_“This is my workshop and my equipment, so trying to hide things from me is tantamount to stealing, no?” As Peter tried to form a response, Tony ducked around him and saw what the teenager had been working on._

_It wasn’t finished, but it was obvious what it was supposed to me._

_“Kid…are you making a lightsaber?”_

_Peter turned, if possible, even redder. “It’s a thought experiment. I just wanted to see if I could do it.”_

_“And can you?”_

_“I’m having a problem with the power source…”_

_“Well, aren’t you lucky that you’re talking to the biggest name in energy right now. What’s the roadblock?”_

_Peter looked away, focussing on his shoes instead. “You don’t have to do this. It’s stupid.”_

_“Kid, I don’t have to do anything. Sort of a key factor in being, you know, me. But if you’re choosing to build a fantasy weapon instead of being in bed like you’re supposed to be, I might as well join you, ok?”_

_“I guess.” Peter finally looked at him. “What are_ you _doing up at this hour?”_

_Insomnia. Anxiety. Nightmares. “Pepper snores something terrible. Don’t you dare tell her I said that. Now - show me the math. Let’s figure this out.”_

_And that was how Pepper had caught them having a lightsaber battle in the workshop at 5 am._

Tony couldn’t stop staring at the car wreck.

A quick scan had confirmed it was Peter’s blood in what was left of the trunk. It looked like a hit and run; the wreck of the sedan that Tony had been tracking left abandoned and ruined on the side of the road, with no other cars in sight.

“Where is he, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“I am unable to trace Mr Parker’s presence.”

_No no no…_ “What about Barnes?”

“No luck, Boss.”

“Come on, Fri. Give me something. Anything.”

“The wreckage suggests they would have departed on foot. Perhaps an aerial scan of the surrounding area will locate them.”

“Ok. Ok.” That made sense. “In which direction?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s tone was almost sympathetic as she said, “There is no way to tell, Boss.”

Tony leaned against the car wreck as his breath hitched in his throat, his airways starting to close. _Not now. Please, not now._

“Boss? I am sensing an increase in your anxiety levels. Initiating breathing exercise. Inhale, one…two…three…four. Exhale, one…two…three…four.”

Tony didn’t want to breathe. He wanted to know where his damn kid was.

But he wasn’t going to find him by having a panic attack in the middle of the Utah desert. So he listened to F.R.I.D.A.Y., feeling his lungs expand and contract until his breath was steady, and he launched himself into the air to resume the search.

He was going to bring Peter home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took some liberties with the Winter Soldier costume design - I don't actually think the mask was designed that way, but I thought it was an interesting way to portray it in this story, given Peter's situation.
> 
> The flashback ties into this theory I have that Tony is actually an introvert, or at least an ambivert, that has just had enough practice in social situations to come off as very extroverted. In the movies he always seems to prefer his own company or those in his inner circle (Just a theory. Would be interested to know your thoughts).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love love love the fan theories - please keep them coming!

“John?”

No answer.

“Simon?”

No answer.

“Tom?” 

Still no answer. 

“Really? You look like a Tom.” Bucky had been jogging through the forest for about twenty minutes, going through every male name he could think of. The ache in his shoulder hadn’t worsened, but it didn’t feel as if it was getting better either.

“Ok. What haven’t I tried…” He ran through a few more names before he asked, “Peter?”

He was rewarded with a soft kick from the teenager.

“Ok. Peter. There? See - we’re making progress.”

Another five minutes passed when Bucky finally saw something that wasn’t perfectly spaced trees. He paused when the saw the outline of a building, ducking behind the nearest tree. The teenager - Peter - kicked him again, questioning.

“I see a building,” Bucky answered, keeping his voice low. “Small, wooden - looks like a maintenance hut.” He kept watch for another few minutes. “I don’t see anyone around. I’m going to get closer - see if I can find a phone.”

The hut was in a small clearing which was mercifully empty as Bucky made his way to the door. It was locked.

“One second, kid.” Bucky lowered Peter to the ground, then slammed his shoulder into the door, breaking open the lock.

Bucky carried Peter inside. The hut was some kind of workshop, tools and equipment littered around the place, a small bed in the corner, and a door that led to a tiny bathroom. The bed didn’t look slept in; in fact, everything was covered in a light layer of dust.

And there, on the far wall, was a phone.

“Alright, kid. Peter. We did it. Nearly there.”

Bucky carefully deposited Peter on the bed and crossed to the phone, giving Peter an assuring look as he dialled Shuri’s number. The kid still looked worn and pale, but a resolution had gathered in eyes. Bucky gave him a nod as the phone started to ring.

And kept ringing. Until - 

A dial tone.

Bucky dialled again, checking he had the right number. He did. Shuri didn’t answer. Neither did T’Challa.

That left one person. The person that was always there for him.

Bucky only hesitated for a moment before punching Steve’s number into the phone. There was a part of them that didn’t want to get his friend involved; that didn’t want to drag him into whatever mess this was. But it wasn’t just Bucky who needed help - he needed to get Peter free and as far away from all of this as possible.

The voice that answered wasn’t Steve.

“Hello?” A female voice with a light British accent asked. “This is Laura Coulson speaking, how can I help you?”

“Hi, Nat.”

There was a pause on the other end, then the British accent was dropped. “Bucky?”

“Speaking.”

There was static on the other end of the line, then a familiar Brooklyn accent - “Bucky! What the hell?”

Bucky couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“You called me and then I heard a crash - are you ok?”

“More or less.”

“Where are you?”

“Somewhere in Utah.”

He heard Steve take a long breath on the other end. “I’m coming.”

“No,” Bucky said quickly. “Listen, Stevie - I don’t know who’s doing this; what resources they have. I just need you to send us a way to get out of here - fast.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. They dropped off some kid in my apartment. He’s as confused as I am.”

“Who is he?”

“His name’s Peter, he’s fifteen, and he’s…well, he’s not quite like us but he’s definitely enhanced. Increased strength, accelerated healing factor - at the very least. They’ve tied him up and gagged him with something I can't remove, so there hasn't exactly been a lot of questions answered."

Steve swore on the other end; a word that still sounded foreign in his friend's voice. “Surely T’Challa -”

“I tried. No one's answering.”

“Ok. Ok.” Bucky could hear Steve trying to work through the situation. “Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him. He could hear movement on the bed behind him. “But we need to figure out a way to get this kid out of here - ASAP. We’re in some kind of forest.”

“In _Utah?_ ”

“I’m guessing for logging purposes? But yeah, it’s in the middle of the desert. Shouldn’t be that hard to find if you just -”

He was distracted by a loud thump and whipped around to see the kid lying on the floor, apparently having just thrown himself off the bed. “Peter?”

He heard Steve on the phone, asking what was going on, as Peter looked up at him with desperate eyes, jerking his head towards the door. Bucky whipped his head to where Peter was looking, and found himself looking down the barrel of a shotgun.

***

Tony felt like he had been searching for hours.

He had done as F.R.I.D.A.Y. suggested, taking to the air and scanning the surrounding area, but there had been nothing; no signs of Peter anywhere.

He didn’t even notice that there was an incoming call until Pepper’s voice was in his ear. “Tony. What’s going on? Why are you in Utah?”

“Hey, Pep.”

“I have Ross banging down my door, not to mention the press won’t let up and everyone on the SI board is freaking out. I've stalled them for as long as I can but -"

_“Pep.”_ Tony's voice was hoarse, as if he’d been yelling for hours.

Pepper paused. “Are you ok?”

Tony took a deep breath. “Someone took the kid.” There. He had said it. Saying it out loud made it feel horribly real.

When Pepper replied, the accusation had dropped from her voice. “You mean Peter? Is he ok?”

“I don’t know.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then “Ok. I’ve got everything handled here.”

If Tony wasn’t flying he would have buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“Tony -”

“I promised I wouldn’t do this to you anymore. I promised you wouldn’t have to put out any more of my fires.”

“This isn’t your fire,” Pepper replied gently. “Or at least - you didn't start it. Do you know what they want? A ransom?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe? There haven’t been any demands. They’ve just told me roughly where he is.”

“Who’s they?”

God, Tony hated really hated the words _I don't know._ "Unclear," he said instead.

“Tony…if they’ve told you where he is, but not asked for any ransom…”

“It’s a trap? Yeah, I kind of figured.” Actually, he hadn’t thought that far, not really. His only thoughts had been of going after Peter and bringing him home. But now he thought about it, it made sense. Kidnap Peter to make Tony go after Barnes. They were probably banking that Barnes would kill or capture him when he showed up to get the kid. “I have to go anyway."

“I know you do.”

“Pepper? I know I don’t really say it a lot, and I know I should say it more, but you know I love you, right?”

“Very much.” There was still a note of wariness in Pepper’s voice.

“I’m going to be fine. I’ve gotten out of worse than this, you know that. You’ve seen that.”

“Not that. Well, it’s partly that.”

“And it’s partly what?”

He heard Pepper sigh. “Tony, I’m sorry. But you need to know.”

“Know what? What’s going on?”

“It’s Ross.”

“Ross can do whatever he likes to me. _After_ I bring Peter home.” When Pepper hesitated further, Tony added, “Just rip the bandaid off. What's the pricetag? Jail time? The Raft? He’s going to try and take the suits - what?”

“He says if you’re not back at base within twelve hours, you’ll be officially rogue, and they can come after you.”

Tony let out a derisive snort. “He’s going to go after his number-one spokesperson that supported the Accords? Yeah, let him try - that’s going to make him look real good. He knows the moment I go against the Accords his so-called career is toast.”

“He does know that. There’s more.”

Tony groaned. “There’s always more. What’s the catch?”

“If the twelve hours pass and you’re not back at base, he’s going on record saying Rhodey helped you. He’d be marked as a rogue as well. You’ll be let off with a warning, which means Ross is going to need someone else to pin it on. He’ll send him to the Raft, Tony.”

Tony swore. “He can’t do that.”  


“He can. He will.”

Tony felt the rising tide of anxiety surge again and forced it down - barely. “Fine. So I’ll find Peter and be back within the next twelve hours. Easy as pie. No problem at all.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah. I’m Iron Man, remember?”

“I can’t really forget.”

“Ok. I’m sorry.”

“Just bring him home. And Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

Then she was gone, and Tony was alone in the desert sky.


	6. Chapter 6

“Drop the phone! Hands where I can see them - now!”

Bucky could hear Steve’s panicked questions on the other end of the line, but he slowly replaced the phone and raised his arm, spreading his fingers so the owner of the shotgun could see them. “It’s just the one hand, actually.”

Behind the gun was a woman somewhere in her thirties, long brown hair braided out of her eyes. She wore a t-shirt and overalls that were flecked with dirt, as though she’s been digging, a cap pulled over her face to keep the sun off. Her grip on the gun was steady, but her eyes were wide, her breath short, betraying the panic.

Her eyes went to Peter, who was still lying on the floor, struggling. “What the hell did you do to him?” the woman demanded. “Get away from the phone. I’m calling the police.”

Bucky obliged, taking two steps closer to the small bed. They were far away from any police station, and local cops he could handle, although he intended to be long gone before any showed up. “Will you at least let me get the kid off the floor?”

“Don’t touch him!” The woman was getting closer, not lowering the shotgun.

“I’m not going to hurt him. Peter, tell her - am I going to hurt you?”

Peter quickly shook his head. The movement made him wince.

The woman didn’t lower the gun an inch. “You could be making him say that.”

Keeping one eye on the gun, Bucky turned his attention to Peter. “Hey kid - you hurt?”

This time the question was for his benefit, not the woman’s. Peter locked eyes with him and Bucky read the pain there. He started to crouch down, only to hear the sound of a shotgun being cocked.

“Don’t move!”

Bucky looked back at the woman, meeting her dark brown eyes. “He’s hurt. I need to see. Ok? Here.” Slowly, he pulled the handgun from his jeans and slid it across the room, far away from him. “You’re armed I’m not. I’m just checking on the kid.”

Cautiously, so as not to spook the woman into pulling the trigger, Bucky went to help Peter sit up, pausing as the teenager flinched away. “Easy, easy. I need to see, ok?”

Peter nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as Bucky turned him onto his other side, his stomach dropping. The shoulder the kid had been lying on was at an awkward angle, having been popped out of its socket when teenager hit the floor.

“Do you have any ice?” Bucky asked the woman.

“What?” Her tone was still sharp, but the gun was starting to waver.

“I need something cold. Anything you have. You can shoot me after I treat him, ok?” To Peter he said, “I _said_ you could dislocate your shoulder if you weren’t careful.”

Peter looked from Bucky to the woman and then, to Bucky’s incredulity, rolled his eyes.

Bucky’s lips twitched. “Yeah ok, you were trying to warn me. Fine. And thank you. I have to put it back in now, ok? And it’s not like in the movies where they count down and then wrench it into place. We have to do it slowly.”

The kid nodded. Bucky pulled him around, as gently as he could, so he was leaning against him. Then he placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder and started manoeuvring it back into the socket. The teenager was breathing harshly throughout, letting out a final sharp inhale as Bucky felt the _pop_ which meant the joint was back where it was meant to be.

An ice pack appeared in his frame of vision. The woman was still holding the gun, but it was lowered. Bucky took the ice pack and applied it to the teenager’s shoulder.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “Why…why is he tied up like that? And the blood...”

“I can answer the first question. I’m James, that’s Peter. As for the second question - I found him like this; we’re making the best of it.”

Her eyes darted to the phone. “Who were you calling?”

“Friends who can help. Probably gave them one hell of a scare. Mind if I call back and sort that out?”

“No!” The shotgun was in his face again. “You could be lying.”

“Yep.”

The woman looked at Peter again. “Are…are you ok with him?”

Peter nodded.

“You could be making him say that,” she reasoned.

“Yep,” Bucky said again. “I could. So why don’t you hold onto that gun while I put him back on the bed? Is that ok?”

She considered, then nodded. Bucky lifted Peter, careful not to jostle his shoulder, carrying him back to the bed. “We told you our names. Can we get yours?”

She hesitated, but then said “Heather. Heather Hansen.”

“Nice to meet you, Heather.”

“I can’t say the same.”

“Fair enough.” Bucky lowered Peter down. The kid’s face was red with pain, so Bucky readjusted the ice pack, holding it to his shoulder again. “You work here?”

“Just maintenance. We have a new person every few weeks or so.”

“Your shift starts today? That’s bad luck.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “How long…” She gestured to Peter.

“I found him like this a few hours ago.” He swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth was. “Don’t suppose you have any water?”

Heather hesitated for a moment longer, then crossed to a small fridge and pulled out a water bottle, bringing it over to Bucky. He tore the cap off the water and downed it in one go. 

“I got some tinned food as well, if you’re hungry.”

Bucky’s stomach told him that yes, he was hungry, but one glance at Peter had him shaking his head. “I’ll eat when he eats.”

Peter shook his head at him, encouraging the opposite, but Bucky couldn’t. It felt too cruel. Bucky turned to Heather. “How do you feel about me calling my friends back? The ones coming to get those things off him? You can call the police first, if you want, but I promise you they’re not going to do anything but make this more complicated than it needs to be.”

Heather took a deep breath, glancing towards the door. “Fine,” she agreed. She slid the gun over her shoulder. “But this stays with me.”

“Fine. Can you take the icepack?”

Heather nodded, taking Bucky’s place and pressing the ice pack against Peter’s shoulder. Bucky dialled Steve’s number again.

Nothing.

T’Challa.

Nothing.

Shuri.

Nothing.

“Your friends not picking up?” Bucky shook his head, returning to the bed. “Are they coming?”

“I…” Bucky glanced at Peter before he said, “Yes.”

“They know where you are?”

“I said a forest in the Utah desert. I’m guessing there aren’t many of those.”

Heather half-smiled. “We’re a small business. We supply wood for a furniture manufacturer a few miles over.”

“Why here?” Bucky asked. “It can’t be easy to grow them.”

“Desert pine,” Heather answered. “It’s an expensive wood that grows best out here. And the land’s dirt cheap; not much competition from farmers. But I’m sure your story for being here is a lot more interesting than mine.” She removed the cap from her face, smoothing back stray hairs. In any other situation Bucky would have noted that she was very pretty, but he was focused on Peter’s injury.

“Kid? It is getting better?”

Peter shifted experimentally and grimaced, then shook his head. Bucky frowned. The teenager’s bruises had disappeared within the hour. Maybe the healing factor took some time to kick in. Bucky checked the cut above Peter’s eye that had caused the blood - gone.

“Here.” Heather stood and returned a few moments later with another bottle of water and a washcloth. She wetted the cloth as she asked, “Ok if I clean you up a bit, Peter?”

Peter nodded. Heather started wiping away the blood, frowning as she got to Peter’s hairline. “Where’s the cut?”

“What do you mean?”

Heather shot him a look. “That much blood indicates a head wound. There isn’t one.”

Bucky gave a noncommittal shrug. “Hey, I just found the kid, ok?”

Heather was quiet for a long moment, then said. “He’d probably dehydrated. You thirsty, Peter? Hungry too, I bet?”

Peter nodded.

“My friends…” Bucky trailed off. He couldn’t get hold of Shuri or T’Challa, and now Steve wasn’t answering either. He had no guarantee that they were on their way, or how far away they were.

Heather sat up on the bed, hands near Peter’s head. “You ok if I take a look at this?” When Peter nodded again, Heather examined the gag, turning Peter’s head from side to side. “Son of a bitch,” she whispered. “Who does this to a teenager? To anyone?”

_I could name plenty._ “I don’t know.”

“You should get him to a hospital. They could set up an IV -”

Immediately Peter was shaking his head, and Bucky followed up with, “We have people looking for us.”

“The people that did this?”

“I don’t know. But probably.”

Heather nodded again. “You need to hydrate him, at least.”

“I don’t suppose you have an IV drip here, do you?”

“No, but…” Heather bit her lip. “I do have another solution. It’s not pleasant.” She looked at Peter as she spoke. “My sister went through a severe case of anorexia when she was a teenager. She refused all food, so we got a court order to give us permission to make her eat.”

Peter’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, but Bucky understood. He took a long breath as he considered what Heather was proposing. “That can go very wrong if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know,” Heather replied. “But my sister was bedridden for months. It was just me and her - my parents couldn’t deal with it. So I’ve had practice.”

Peter was looking from Heather to Bucky, asking for an explanation. They glanced at each other before Heather turned to Peter and said, “Peter, listen. We need to get fluids in you. The longer we wait, the more we risk you getting severely dehydrated. I don’t have an IV available, but there’s another way. When my sister was unwell, we’d insert a tube through her nostril and -”

Peter’s head whipped around to Bucky, brown eyes wide and terrified. “I know,” Bucky said gently. “Not fun. And it’s your choice whether we do it or not. We’re not going to force you to do anything. But listen, kid - I think we’re going to have to.”

“I’m very good,” Heather assured him. “I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can, ok?”

“Can you give us a minute?” Bucky asked her quietly. Heather looked between them, uncertain, but nodded, moving across the hut to give them space.

“How’s the shoulder?” Bucky asked. “Nod for ok; shake for still hurts.”

Peter paused for a minute, then relented and shook his head. 

“Ok.” Bucky glanced over at Heather, making sure his next words couldn’t be heard. “Is that something that usually would have started to fix itself by now?"

Peter nodded.

"It is? Fixing itself?"  


Peter tested the shoulder, winced, then shook his head.

“I’m no expert, but I think that means your healing factor is slowing down, or not working as it should. And that’s something that might come in very useful later. And if you need to eat to get it back up, then you need to eat. Even if it’s this way - ok?”

When Peter didn’t give any kind of response, Bucky continued. “I’ve had it done to me,” he murmured. “When some people I was with suspected I was…acting out. They’d tie me down for days, but they had to make sure I wasn’t going to die on them. That was their solution. And I’m not going to lie; it’s rough. But I’ll be here the whole time, and we’ll get through it together. Ok?”

Peter nodded, eyes closed. Bucky squeezed his good shoulder. “Kid, you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met - you know that? And I’ve known some brave people.” He looked over Heather, and gave her a nod.

It took some time to gather what they needed. In that time Bucky tried calling his three lifelines again, but none of them responded. When Heather was ready, Bucky pulled Peter back into his lap on the bed as Heather prepared the tube.

“Ok, Peter,” Heather said. She had managed to find some disposable gloves, and they had boiled everything they were about to use, to make it as sanitary as possible. “Look, this isn’t how I pictured my day going either. But the best thing you can do is to move as little as possible, and try not to panic or fight back. Are you ok for James to restrain you? It’s for safety only, I promise.”

Peter nodded and leaned back to Bucky could wrap his arm around his chest, holding him steady. “This will easier if you power through and we get it done first time,” Heather told him. “But If for any reason you need to stop, blink three times. You’re in control. Ok?”

Bucky reckoned the kid felt anything but, but Peter nodded to show he understood. To Bucky, Heather said, “Remember - keep him as still as you can.”

She had explained this to him privately - the risk they were taking. As practised as Heather was, there was always the risk that the tube could end up going down Peter’s airways instead of his oesophagus. Even a small amount of food entering Peter’s lungs could have disastrous results.

“Here we go, kid. It’ll be over soon, ok?” Bucky hugged Peter to him as tightly as he could as Heather began inserting the tube up Peter’s nose. Bucky felt Peter stiffen, pressing into Bucky for comfort. The teenager’s breathing became harsher, and Bucky whispered in his ear, “You’re doing great, ok? You got this.”

Peter suddenly jerked, but Bucky was holding onto him tightly enough that Heather didn’t lose her focus. Bucky could feel the kid’s tears dripping onto his arm and said, “Heather - wait.”

“This will be better if I do it quickly.”

“Five seconds. Kid, do you want me to talk you through this? Nod if you do.”

Peter nodded frantically, and Bucky signalled to Heather to keep going. “Ok. I can do that. You know, I have a friend you remind me of - just as brave as you are. And an idiot, sometimes. Never knew when to walk away from a fight.”

Heather had finished inserting the tube, and was readying the food. “Ok, I’m going to start feeding you now, ok? The more you relax, the easier it’s going to be.”

Bucky could feel tension vibrating off the teenager. “Want to hear how we met? I was walking home after school, completely normal day, when I hear the sounds of a fight coming from this alleyway. I almost kept walking - not my business, right? Then I hear these voices, jeering about someone being small, being weak, and I realise it’s at least three against one. Which isn’t fair, yeah? So I think, ok, no harm in evening the odds.

“So I get down this alleyway, and there, on the ground, is the skinniest thirteen-year-old I’ve ever seen, getting the crap kicked out of him by these bullies three times his size. And this kid - he’s a mess. Clothes torn, covered in mud, nose gushing blood. And these bullies, they’re yelling and taunting him, asking if he’s had enough, if he’s ready to go crying home to his mom, and you know what this kid does? He looks up at them - and he smiles. It was crazy; his mouth was all bloody, it looked like something from a picture show. And you know what he says?”

Bucky smiled at the memory. “ _I can do this all day_. Which the stubborn bastard probably would of, but I wasn’t bad in a fight myself, and the bullies were big, but they were slow. So I got involved.

“I wish I could tell you I said something cool and took them all out in three easy punches, but fights don’t really go like that. The bad guys don’t line up and take turns. They all go for you at once. I did get in a few good hits before two of them had my arms pinned behind my back and the third one, the biggest one - ugly bastard too - had his fist all ready to break my face. Then suddenly there’s this loud _bang_ and the bully is on his knees, wailing like a baby, and this scrawny kid is standing over him with a trashcan lid, snarling at him, telling him to leave me alone like _I’m_ the one who was getting beat up in some Brooklyn back alley.

“Anyway, that makes the two that were holding me hesitate long enough for me to get free, slug one in the face and clock the other one in the balls. Then they’re running - don’t even both to take their friend, who’s still howling, with them. And I look at this kid with this trashcan lid nearly as tall as he is and tell him to run and so we do, and we don’t stop until we’re halfway across town.”

Bucky paused, remembering the next bit. Steve had put his hand out like they were meeting at Sunday dinner, at though his clothes weren’t in tatters and his nose wasn’t dripping blood onto his collar.

_I’m Steve._

_I’m James, but you can call me Bucky. Everyone does._

Bucky felt Peter buck under his grip and brought himself back to the present. “He was still a mess, by the way. His mom laid into him when she got home something awful. But he looks at me with these defiant blue eyes, and do you know what he says? _I had them on the ropes_.”

“Done,” Heather said quietly. “I’m just going to remove the tube now, ok? It’s not comfortable, but the worst bit is over.”

Bucky gave Peter a comforting pat as the tube was pulled out, almost gagging himself when he saw how long it was, how much of it was inside the kid’s body. The second it was out, Peter was slumping back into Bucky, taking long breaths through his nose.

“Good job, Peter.” Heather smiled at him, giving his knee a reassuring pat. “We shouldn’t have to do that again, ok?”

Peter nodded, full weight now against Bucky. “Kid? You ok?”

It took him a moment to realise he was passed out from exhaustion, his head against Bucky’s shoulder. Heather knelt down beside the bed, talking as low as she could. “What are you doing to do now?”

“Wait for backup. Let the kid rest.”

“And if no backup comes?”

“We’ll be gone. Thank you,” he added, before she could move away. “You could have ratted us out to the cops; made everything worse.”

“Or shot you.” She shot him a small smile. “That was always on the cards.”

Bucky smiled back, but it quickly faded at the thought of no backup coming after all. Where the hell was he meant to take the kid if he couldn’t get to Wakanda? He didn’t even know what continent the rogue Avengers were on, let alone how to get to them.

_What about the non-rogue Avengers?_

Bucky took a deep breath. Of course. Stark.

The man wasn’t exactly hard to find. And as badly as their last encounter had gone, Bucky doubted the man would turn away from a teenager in need of his help. Stark and Steve had been friends once, after all - good friends, on their best days. He couldn’t be all bad.

Bucky settled back on the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping teen. Peter only stirred slightly, resting his head against Bucky’s chest before going still again.

_Stark will arrest you on sight. You know he will. If not worse._

Bucky wrapped his one arm around Peter, avoiding jostling his injured shoulder. _That might just be a risk I have to take._

_***_

_“You’re leaving? Again? You just got back.”_

_“Geez, Tones, I didn’t realise you cared so much.”_

_Rhodey shot him a grin as he suited up, everything but the War Machine faceplate in place, but it didn’t hide the shadows under his eyes._

_“Maybe I just don’t like sharing.”_

_“I’ll be back in a few days.”_

_“Yeah, for how long?”_

_Rhodey just shrugged. “There’s work to be done. Someone’s gotta do it. And you’re busy feeding every squawking reporter that shows up at your door so -”_

_“I’d much rather be kicking bad guys in the face with you.”_

_“I know,” Rhodey said, laying an armored hand on Tony’s shoulder. “But we knew what we were in for when we signed the Accords. This is it.”_

_“If I had known it would mean this many press conferences, I would have gone rogue. Am I at least allowed to know where Ross is sending you this time?”_

_“Not a chance.”_

_“So the Middle East then. Again.”_

_“I can’t confirm or deny that. What’s your press conference about?”_

_“I don’t know. Ross’s lot hasn’t given me the script yet.” Tony caught the flash of sympathy that flashed across his best friend’s face. “What’s that look for?”_

_“It won’t be like this forever.”_

_“Won’t it?”_

_Rhodey looked around surreptitiously, which made Tony roll his eyes._

_“We’re in my workshop in the Avengers compound. Who on earth do you think is going to be listening in?”_

_“Can’t be too careful. Especially not with what I’m about to say.”_

_Rhodey moved so he was only a few inches away from Tony, his voice dropped to a murmur. “Ross is spiralling. Half the public hates him for driving Cap and the others out of the country, the other half hate him for not enforcing the Accords enough. No matter how many war zones he sends me and Vis to clean up or how many nice things he makes you parrot about him on National TV, he’s not coming back from this. And he knows it. His career is pretty much over.”_

_Now Tony found himself glancing over his shoulder, despite himself. “What does that mean for us?”_

_“Someone new comes into power and the Accords get dropped. Or…”_

_“Someone comes into power and things get a whole lot worse,” Tony finished. “And either way we’re left with a very unhappy former Secretary of State.”_

_“Either way,” Rhodey repeated. “Just be careful, Tones - ok?”_

_“What do you think I’ve been doing?”_

_“Keep being careful then. Show them you can toe the line - that you can play ball when you need them too.”_

_“Or what?”_

_“I don’t think we want to find out.”_

The next lot photos Tony received were enough to stop him mid-flight.

“Boss? Your vitals show a sudden spike in adrenaline. I am sensing no immediate danger in the surrounding area.” Tony couldn’t reply - his mouth was too dry.

More photos of Peter. Peter on a single bed, still bound, still gagged with those horrible metal bands. Peter being restrained by Barnes as a woman with a shotgun approached him. The woman inserting some kind of tube through Peter’s nose while the kid stared at the ceiling in utter pain and terror.

Tony gave himself ten seconds. Ten seconds to freak out, to pray, to beg - whatever he needed to get through this.

Then he opened his eyes and examined the pictures more closely.

Peter appeared to be inside some kind of small house. “Fri? Who’s the woman? Enlarge her face.” Tony squinted at her. “Do I know her?”

“She matches no personnel in our facial recognition software.”

“Huh.” Tony gave her one more look, then shook his head. He couldn’t place her. Maybe he was so desperate for clues that his mind was playing tricks on him now. “Fine. Show me the whole picture again.”

Tony scanned the photo, trying to be objective, to not focus on the expression on what he could see of Peter’s face.

And there. In the very corner.

“Hey, Fri? Is that a window? Enlarge that for me, would you?” Tony looked at the zoomed-in image. “ _Are those trees?”_

“There is a desert pine farm not too far from your current location.”

_Son of a bitch. I found him. “_ Take me there. Now. As fast as you can.”

“Right away, Boss.”

_Hang on, Peter. I’m nearly there._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE COMMENTS. They mean the world to me, you guys are actually are such amazing, warm, kind, generous people x

“James? I have an idea.”

Bucky turned his head so he was looking at Heather, careful not to wake Peter. “We’re a logging company,” Heather elaborated. “These trees may not be made of metal, but they’re no cakewalk to cut through either.”

“What are you saying? You have a way to cut through the restraints?”

“Maybe. Come and see what I’m talking about.”

Bucky gestured to Peter. “I don’t want to wake him yet.”

“Then leave him here - it’s not far.”

Bucky bit his lip, thinking. “I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“We’re miles from anywhere. No one else is around.”

“I’m not risking it.” Reluctantly, Bucky gently shook Peter awake. The large brown eyes fluttered open, confusion quickly replaced by panic as the teenager jerked against the metal bands, the nightmare of a situation rushing back as he woke.

“Kid! It’s ok - we’re going to try and get you out, alright?”

Peters struggles ceased, replaced by a tiredness that made him look a hell of a lot older than fifteen. Bucky looked back to Heather. “What’s your idea?”

Carrying Peter, Bucky followed Heather through the symmetrical trees until a second building appeared, much larger than the first.

“This way.” Heather led them through wide double doors. The building was a single large room lined with equipment. Bucky took a sharp breath when he saw what Heather was heading for: a large buzzsaw designed for splitting trees.

Something nagged at Bucky’s mind when he saw it; something he couldn’t place. _You’re considering putting a teenager near a huge spinning blade. Of course something feels wrong._

Bucky was carrying Peter in a one-armed fireman’s hold, so he was facing away from the buzzsaw. He felt the kid’s gentle kick, asking what was going on.

“Ok.” Bucky swallowed, his mouth dry. He couldn’t stop staring at the huge blade. “So you know this place is for logging, right?” he said to Peter. "They cut the trees down and sell the wood? Well, they need a way to do that. I’m going to take you over there so you can see, ok?”

Bucky followed Heather across the room, then sat Peter down against a workbench so he could see the buzzsaw. The teenager’s eyes grew huge, and he shook his head frantically.

“Hey.” Bucky crouched down beside him. “We’re not going to do anything without your permission, alright? This is going to be your choice. Just hear her out.”

Heather joined them, her face sympathetic. “I don’t think we should get it near your hands or face,” she said. “But maybe we can get your legs free. I’ve been doing this for years, and our trees need to be cut very precisely or we can’t sell the wood. We’ve never had an accident. Not one.”

Peter was taking deep, harsh breaths, eyes still fixed on the blade. “We’ll go very slow,” Heather continued. “It was designed for wood, not metal, so I can’t guarantee it will work. But at least you’d be able to walk - to get around on your own. That would be something, right?”

Peter looked at Bucky, his eyes questioning. Bucky considered, biting his lip. “It’s your choice,” he repeated. “But if there’s a way to do this safely…I think it’s worth a shot. There must be an emergency brake or something on that thing, right?”

Heather nodded. “Of course. We check it every six months. Last inspection was just three weeks ago.”

Peter glanced from them, to the buzzsaw, to his bound feet.

And nodded.

“That’s very brave of you, Peter,” Heather said softly. “I’m going to do a final round of safety checks, just in case, then we’ll get you on the table.”

“Hey,” Bucky said as Heather went to check the saw. “I know I’ve said this already, but you’re damn brave, kid. And if this doesn’t work…I have some other ideas, ok? Maybe someone else I can take you too. We don’t really get along.” _Understatement of the century._ “But I think he’ll help.”

“Ready,” Heather called.

“Remember,” Bucky said. “You’re in control. You say to stop - we stop. Alright?” Peter nodded, although all the color had left his face. “You sure? We don’t have to -” He broke off at the glare Peter gave him, putting up his hand. “Alright! Let’s get it over with then.”

Bucky carried Peter to the table. He could feel the teenager’s breath against his shoulder, hot and frantic, before he laid him down, feet facing the buzzsaw.

“On his stomach,” Heather instructed. “You can’t get him flat on his back with his hands like that.”

Bucky obliged, arranging Peter so his feet were right next to the thin blade. He could see now that the blade wouldn’t touch them; would only hit the metal band. That was, if Peter didn’t move during. Bucky examined the saw, still unable to shake that something just felt _off._

Bucky heard Heather talking and turned to face her. “Sorry. What did you just say?”

“I was explaining to Peter that we’ll have to tie him down,” Heather repeated. She was already readying several rope straps, throwing them across Peter’s prone body. “It’s for his own safety,” she added when she saw Bucky’s hesitation.

Bucky examined one of the ropes. It was thick, with a buckle that connected it to the table underneath it. They were in perfect condition. _That’s good, right?_

“If they can hold a pine tree, they can hold a teenager,” Heather continued.

Bucky moved so that Peter could see him “You ok with this, Peter? We can find another way to do this.”

Peter fixed him with a determined look, and gave an affirming nod. Bucky took a long breath, and started securing the ropes over the teenager’s body. He only paused at the final stage; buckling them to the table.

“Um.” He gave Heather a sheepish look. “Could you give me a hand? Literally?”

She looked up, seeing his predicament. “Of course. One sec.”

“Thanks.” Bucky stepped aside so Heather could do the buckles. “I can do most things, but some are still a bit out of reach. I only just learned how to do buttons.”

“It’s no problem.”

Heather finished the last buckle, then checked the ropes were secure. “I’m just going to turn the saw on for a few seconds at first,” Heather informed them. “I’m going to count to three, then turn it on for three, then back off again. I’m sure nothing going’s to go wrong, but we’re going to take every safety precaution we can. If that goes well, I’m going to turn it back off again until it hits the metal. Then I’ll turn it off, and we’ll assess whether or not we’ll keep going. Does that sound ok to you, Peter?”

Peter nodded, then pressed his forehead against the table. Bucky laid his hand on his head, meaning to comfort him, but Heather said, “No. I need you here.”

Reluctantly, Bucky joined her near the saw. “You see that red tab under the table?” Bucky said he did. “That’s the safety brake. The second something looks like it’s going wrong, you pull it, and everything shuts down within three seconds.”

Bucky swallowed. A lot could go wrong in three seconds.

“Ok.” Heather readied herself by the saw. “In three…two…one…now.”

Bucky flinched as the buzzsaw roared to life, suddenly grateful they had secured the kid so thoroughly - if he moved in the wrong direction now, he was going to lose something even his healing factor might not be able to fix. The saw filled the space with a high pitched scream, the blades spinning into a silver blur. Bucky’s instinct was to pull on the emergency brake at once, but then the saw was slowing, the scream dulling to a whir and then silence.

“Ok,” Heather said. “That was the test. Now -”

“Peter?”

Bucky was at the kid’s head in a heartbeat. He was still pressed against the table, refusing to look up, but his entire body was shaking. Bucky laid his hand against his back, rubbing it in small circles. “This is insane,” he said to Heather. “We’re not doing this.”

“But the test went fine -”

“Heather, _look_ at him.” Bucky went to start untying Peter, but releasing the buckles proved as impossible one-handed as doing them up. “Help me, would you?”

Heather didn’t move. “You said it was Peter’s choice. This is what he chose.”

“We’ll find another way.”

“ _What_ other way?”

“I need to get to New York.” Bucky had decided. No more waiting for backup. He was going to Stark, consequences be damned. “There’s someone there that will help. And they won’t do it by tying him down and using a giant saw designed for trees to -”

Bucky broke off. He looked at the saw. At the table. At the warehouse. And that thing, that thing that had just felt _wrong,_ finally clicked.

“Where’s the wood?”

Heather frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re a logging farm, right? You grow trees, cut them up in here for furniture. So where’s all the wood?”

“It’s the offseason. We’re still growing.”

Bucky shook his head. “The saw, the ropes, all of it - this all looks brand new. Like it’s never been used before.”

“I told you, we just had our last inspection. We replaced most of our equipment.”

But more pieces were clicking into place. “You said you were here to relieve someone else on shift. But that hut looked like no one had been there for months.”

“James, slow down - what are you on about?”

“Who are you?” Bucky growled, readying himself to leap across the table. She still had the shotgun slung across her back, but she hadn’t reached for it yet. He still had time to get it before she used it.

“I told you.” There was a real note of panic in her voice now. “My name is Heather Hansen, I work on a logging farm. I’m trying to help -”

“Untie him them.”

“If you just hear me out -”

Her hands were creeping towards the gun, and that was enough for Bucky. He tensed, readying himself to jump the table and knock it from her hands.

He never got the chance. Just as he braced himself, he heard the familiar whine of a repulser. He whipped his head towards it but the blast was already hitting him square in the chest - right over his heart.

***

_“Mr Stark? I’m finished.”_

_Tony paused in his reassembly of a thruster to go see Peter’s work. The Spider-man suit lay open on one of his workbenches, inner workings exposed. The kid had taken a nasty fall due to a mistimed web swing, but the suit had protected him from it, taking all the damage itself._

_Peter had been sheepish when he’d brought it to Tony’s attention. “That’s how it’s designed, kid.”_

_“But I broke it.”_

_“Better it than you.”_

_“Can you fix it?”_

_“I can. But I’m not going to.”_

_Tony saw the kid’s shoulders sag and inwardly cursed himself. Sometimes, it felt as if his dad was speaking through him, the words and phrases Tony had come to resent so much escaping his own lips._

_“That’s not what I meant,” he amended quickly. “But you can’t come running to me every time the suit blows a gasket.”_

_“The suit has gaskets?”_

_“No - listen. You need to know how to fix this yourself.”_

_Peter nodded, eyes still downcast. “Ok. I get it.” He started to pack the suit away._

_“What are you doing?”_

_“You said I had to fix it myself -”_

_“Yeah, and I’m going to show you. Obviously.” Or at least, he had thought it was obvious._

_“Oh.” The kid brightened up again. “Um, now?”_

_“No, I’m going to leave you with a broken suit for a week. Yes, now.”_

_A few hours later (and two hours after Peter was meant to have gone home to May), Tony rolled his chair across the workshop to look over Peter’s repairs. “This is good work,” he said, and the kid flushed with pride. “From now on when something goes wrong with the suit, you’re going to fix it. Alright? And more than that - you’re going to keep thinking of ways to not break it next time.”_

_Peter nodded. “Sorry.”_

_“For what?”_

_“Making you do it. I know you’re busy, and I know I break things a lot, and- ”_

_“Ok. No. The adult is talking.” When he was sure he had Peter’s full attention, Tony continued. “This isn’t me punishing you for breaking anything. And this isn’t me saying that you’re not worth my time. This is…” Shit, why was he so bad at this? “Looking out for you. Trying to look out for you.”_

_“Ok?”_

_“I just…” Words. He was usually so good with words. “If something happened to me, or if you couldn’t get to me for some reason, I just want to make sure that you’d be ok. Here.” Tony led Peter over to the thruster he had been working on. “You know what this is?”_

_“One of your thrusters?” Peter’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “But I thought the nanite suit -”_

_“Is a masterful feat of engineering, yes. But it always pays to have backups. Even the best plans go wrong. Can you see what I’m doing to it?”_

_He stood back to so Peter could examine his work. Peter frowned but, after some examination, he figured it out. “You’re rewiring to allow for more power to reach the thrusters?”_

_“Bingo. 11.89% faster, to be precise.”_

_“Ok? 11.89?”_

_“Because that’s how much faster I needed to be to catch Rhodey.”_

_Peter’s eyes went wide. “But the braces. He can get around fine now and -”_

_“Have you heard of the story of the cliff people kept driving off of?”_

_“Um, no?”_

_“Not a true story,” Tony added hastily. “Old cautionary tale. The story goes, there’s this cliff near this town that people keep driving off by accident. There’s a sharp turn in the road or a blind bend or something. That part doesn’t matter. The part that matters is that people go over. A lot._

_“So the town has a meeting. They can spare $5000 to help with the problem. But they’re split on how to spend it. Half of the town want to invest in an ambulance service that will get those who fall off the cliff to the hospital faster. The other half want to put up a fence to stop them from going over in the first place. Do you get what I’m trying to say?”_

_“This really isn’t putting me at ease for my driver’s test next month.”_

_“I’m saying that sometimes you’re going to go over the cliff, and there’s nothing you can do about it. But instead of always thinking of how to fix things when they go wrong, sometimes it’s better to think about how you prevent them from going wrong in the first place.” Tony sighed, running his hands through his hair. “That was a really long way of saying that I’m going to show you how to fix your suit when you need it. But at the same time, you need to be thinking of ways to not let the past repeat itself. You took a fall; the suit took the damage. Fine, that’s how it’s designed. But now…”_

_“But now I need to think of a way to stop the suit getting damaged as well?”_

_“Now we need to think of ways to prevent you from falling at all. Think of the fence; not the ambulance.”_

_Faster. Come on - faster._

Tony sped towards the expanse of green amongst the desert landscape. “Any signs of life down there, Fri?”

“I am detecting heat signatures.”

“Surely I programmed you better than that. Give me specifics.”

“Boss - look.”

The display on the helmet’s interior changed to show heat signatures, and Tony swore. The entire forest was bright red. “Are the trees… _hot?_ ”

“Their heat signatures are abnormally high, yes.”

_What the hell?_ “What about buildings? Anything?”

“There appears to a large and a small structure within the trees.”

Tony bit his lip, knowing that choosing wrong would cost him time. “Well, I always go large, don’t I?” he muttered. “Take me to the big one, Fri.”

_Please be ok, kid. I’m almost there. I’m almost -_

Tony thought he was ready for the sight that met him. Thought that after Afghanistan and wormholes into space and seeing his parents murdered on a cold screen in Siberia, he could handle anything.

But at the sight of Peter, strapped to a table with a giant saw preparing to cut him in half, Tony lost it.

Tony saw Barnes look at him, just a glance, as Tony raised his repulser. _Think of the fence; not the ambulance._ Tony had taken his own advice - his father’s advice. Howard would always tell that story, every time he was rolling out his next big weapon. _The best weapon is the one you never have to fire._

Tony disagreed. The best weapon is the one you only have to fire once. He wasn’t going to lose; not this time.

Tony fired.

With the Winter Soldier out of the equation, Tony went straight to Peter’s side, raising a repulser at the woman standing next to the saw. “Drop the gun. Don’t make me ask twice.”

She did, raising her hands and backing away. “He made me. I’m sorry. He said he’d hurt me if I didn’t.”

Tony wasn’t listening - he didn’t care. He blasted the gun to pieces where it lay, then he was ripping away the restraints holding Peter to the table and was pulling him away from the saw. The nanites retreated from his head as he held Peter to him, allowing himself a second of relief at seeing the kid alive before he was moving again.

“I’m here, kid,” he whispered. Peter’s eyes were huge, a confusing combination of relief and panic. The restraints looked even worse up close; huge, thick things with no clasp or lock. “I’m going to get those off. Hold on.”

Peter was squirming in his grip, trying to look over his shoulder at Barnes. “Kid, it’s fine. He’s down.”

Peter struggled harder, tears pricking in his eyes. Tony’s heart broke at the sight. _What the hell did Barnes do to his kid?_ “Peter. Pete. Look at me.” Peter did. Any hint of that relief was gone - now there was just panic. “You’re safe now. Ok?”

Peter just shook his head frantically, still trying to look at Barnes. “I know,” Tony said softly. “But he’s not going to hurt you anymore, ok? I promise. I’m…I’m sorry. That I didn’t get here sooner.” When his words didn’t calm the kid down, he added. “ _Peter._ Listen. I can’t break the restraints if you keep moving. Ok? Let me get them off you. Please.”

The anguish in the last word finally got Peter’s attention enough for him to still. “Thank you,” Tony breathed. He wrapped both gauntlets around the metal gag, and pulled.

Nothing happened. Tony fired up the flight stabilisers, careful not to burn Peter as he used the thrusters in the gauntlets to increase the pressure, first a little, and then as much as he could without hurting Peter.

The gag didn’t break.

The teenager’s tears were flowing thick and fast now, and Tony felt his own eyes burning as he tried to comfort him. “It’s ok. We’ll go back to the compound, and we’ll sort it out there. You’re safe now. It’s over.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah the comments on the last chapter! They made me melt. Thank you so much!

Steve Rogers had managed to have a reasonably good day.

Life on the run was no picnic. He was never in one place long enough to feel settled, and he had to be constantly on guard, forever looking over his shoulder. It didn’t help that he had one of the most iconic faces in American history either. He had grown his hair long with a beard to match, hoping that would help and earning Natasha’s nickname of _Моя блондинка медведь_ (my blonde bear). But at least he wasn’t alone.

Sam, Natasha, and Wanda. The three had vowed to stay by his side through thick and thin. Steve didn’t blame Clint or Scott for leaving; staying with family was the important thing any of them could do. And this was his family now.

His three companions made everything else bearable. Steve missed a lot of things - more than he cared to admit. He missed waking up in a bed he could call his own each morning; missed waking up to another day of training or missions or whatever his routine dictated. He missed Bucky, hated that Bucky had reentered to his life only to be taken away - again. They couldn’t call each other that often, even with all the precautions they took. As much as Steve loved hearing Bucky’s voice, every conversation came with the knowledge that hanging up the phone meant another month before they could speak again.

He also missed Peggy, but he tried not to think about that.

So when the phone rang and Bucky’s number flashed up on the screen, only a few days after their last call, Steve immediately knew that something was wrong.

“Bucky?”

The answer he got was a crash of metal and glass, and then a voice telling him that the number he was trying to reach was no longer in service.

Natasha was in the room when it happened. She paused when she saw Steve’s face go colorless, tossing aside her book and springing to her feet.

“Bucky,” was all Steve gave as explanation before he was dialling T’Challa’s number. He knew that Bucky was to spend a week in the States while Tony was visiting Wakanda, although he didn’t know exactly where. He tried T’Challa three times - no answer - before finally turning to Natasha.

“I heard a crash.” His voice was barely more than a croak.

Natasha nodded, her face turning into the cool, collected mask she saved for missions. “You’re going.” It wasn’t a question. “I’m coming.” Neither was that.

“No,” Steve protested. “Stay with Sam and Wanda. Keep them safe until I get back.”

“Sam and Wanda can take care of themselves. And you need a ride.” When Steve went to argue further she added, “I can get you there three times faster than you could on your own.”

A few hours later, they were minutes from soaring into the sky on a jet Natasha had ‘borrowed’ (her words) when Steve’s phone rang a second time. Unknown number.

He went to answer it, but Natasha stopped him. “What if it’s Bucky?” Steve asked.

“What if it’s not?” She took the phone, adopting an English accent as she answered, “This is Laura Coulson speaking, how can I help you?” A pause and then, “Bucky?”

Steve was prying the phone out of her hand in an instant. “Bucky! What the hell?”

The following conversation was enough to gather that Bucky was in Utah, surrounded by forest (somehow), before there was a _thump_ over the line followed by, “Peter?”

“Buck? What’s going on? Who’s Peter?”

Then the next words - a woman’s voice, shouting, telling Bucky not to move, to raise his hands. As though she had a gun on him.

“Bucky!” Steve could feel Natasha’s eyes on him, worried, questioning. “Buck, are you ok? What - ”

Then, for the second time that day, the line went dead.

“A forest in Utah,” Steve said quickly, and Natasha nodded, firing up the jet. “Some kind of logging farm. I’m guessing there aren’t many of those out there?”

“I’ll get us over the State and then we can narrow down the location.” She shot Steve a look. “You once we’re in the sky we’ll be out of cellphone range.”

Steve glanced at the burner phone in his hand. As much as he hated Bucky not being able to call him back if needed, the idea of sitting around while someone had a gun on his best friend was worse. “Get us in the skies, Romanoff.”  


It was one of the longest hours of Steve’s life. The second they saw green in the desert landscape, Steve was buckling on a parachute. “I could land and come in with you,” Natasha pointed out. “You don’t have to go in alone.”

“Too slow,” Steve responded. “Find a place to land nearby; be ready for extraction. We might need a fast getaway.”

“If I don’t hear from you in an hour, I’m coming in.”

“Deal.”

Natasha pushed the button for the back of the plane to open. “Have a nice flight,”

“I always do,” Steve called back. “It’s the landings that don’t always agree with me.” Then he jumped.

The second his boots touched the ground, he freed himself of the chute and started running, not slowing until he saw a building ahead.

It appeared to be some kind of hut. Steve burst inside, not caring about stealth. It was empty, but the bedsheets were ruffled, some kind of long tube laid on the floor next to it. There was no time to question it. Bucky wasn’t there, so Steve kept moving.

The next building he found was larger, the doorway wider. He reached for a shield that wasn’t there as he sprinted inside.

“Bucky?”

Bucky was on his knees, arm by his side, head bowed. His eyes went wide as he saw Steve in the door, but he made no move to get up - to even acknowledge him. Steve took another step into the room, finally seeing the whole picture.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Hydra? Ross’s men? Someone worse? It didn’t matter - he was ready to take on any of them, _all_ of them, if it meant getting Bucky out of harm’s way.

He wasn’t expecting a red and gold suit and a face he hadn’t seen in over a year.

Tony was bent over a teenager whose wrists, ankles and mouth were bound with thick strips of silver metal. A terrified-looking woman was standing nearby, hands in the air, the remains of what could have been a shotgun at her feet. Steve took in the space - some kind of workshop, with a fierce-looking buzzsaw in the centre of it. 

Tony whipped around to face him, his expression a mix of shock and confusion that quickly turned guarded.

Steve looked from Tony, to the teenager, to Bucky.

“What the hell is going on?”

***

_“Dad?”_

_“Tony? You know you’re not supposed to call this number unless it’s an absolute emergency.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Well is it? An emergency?”_

_Tony shuffled his feet, trying to ignore the blisters his new (and very expensive) trainers had given him. They’d been a present for his eighth birthday, only a week ago, but now they were covered in mud, a small hole in one side._

_He was sitting against a dumpster down an old back alley, arms wrapped around himself for warmth as he cuddled the phone against his ear like an emergency blanket._

_“I…”_

_“Are you hurt?”_

_Tony bit his lip._

_“Tony. Are you hurt?”_

_“Um…”_

_“If you’re hurt call a hospital. Because either now you have to hang up and call one, wasting time, or I have to call one for you, which will take longer, because I don’t know where you are.”_

_“Ok.”_

_“I’m just being practical.”_

_“I’m not hurt.”_

_He heard his father’s exasperated sigh over the phone. “I have a board meeting in five minutes, Tony. And now I’m going to be late, because you called me on the emergency number for non-emergency reasons.”_

_“I know, but -”_

_“No buts. We make rules for a reason.”_

_“Yes, Dad.”_

_“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s something you can sort out yourself. You need to learn to get by on your own, because there won’t always be someone there to hold your hand.”_

_“Ok, Dad.”_

_“I want you to be strong. To not have to rely on anyone else. Because there aren’t going to be many people in your life you_ can _rely on - trust me on that. Alright?”_

_It had been past midnight by the time Tony stumbled home, shivering violently as he quietly let himself in the backdoor and went to sneak up to his room._

_“Tony?” The house was dark, but Tony would have known Edwin Jarvis anywhere. The butler ran over to him, cupping his face in his hands. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over town for you.”_

_Tony blushed as he admitted, “I got lost.”_

_“Why didn’t you call me?”_

_Tony shrugged him off. “I found my way home.”_

_“You’re freezing. Come on - bath time.”_

_Tony let Jarvis lead him up to the bathroom, helping him out of his muddy clothes as the tub filled with steaming water. “I can do this myself,” Tony muttered. “I’m not a baby.”_

_“You’re far too young to be out this late on your own. Why didn’t you come straight home?”_

_“I got lost," Tony repeated._

_“You walk the same route every day. How did you get lost?”_

_Tony felt the spark of tears in his eyes and hastily blinked them away. Starks didn’t cry. Starks were made of iron. “It was stupid. I don’t want to talk about it.”_

_Jarvis sighed, crouching down so he was eye level with Tony. “Tony. Whatever happened - I’m here, ok?”_

_“There was a man…”_

_He felt Jarvis freeze, his hands gripping Tony’s shoulders. “What man? What did he do??”_

_“Nothing! I lost him. Or he went away. But then I realised I didn’t know where I was and…”_

_“Why didn’t you call anyone?”_

_Tony avoided his gaze. “I’m home, now aren’t I? There’s nothing you can do.”_

_“I can listen.”_

_“How would that help?”_

_“It’ll help. Trust me.”_

“You’re safe now. It’s over.”

_Stupid. Way to jinx yourself, Stark._

Tony stared at the man he once considered a friend framed in the doorway of the workshop. His t-shirt was still his iconic blue, but his hair had grown longer, a thick beard framing his face. Steve’s eyes were darting from Tony to Bucky, his stance ready to fight.

“What the hell is going on?”

It was one of the few times in his life when Tony was completely lost for words.

Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly self-righteous or masochistic or both, he would let himself fantasise about what he would say to Steve Rogers if the man ever walked into his life again. He had spiels ready to go about trust and friendship and teamwork and everything Rogers had ever lectured him on during their time as Avengers. He had a whole diatribe ready detailing how he found his way home from Siberia with no backup and a broken suit, how fucking _cold_ it had been, how his injuries had taken weeks to heal, how one shoulder still twinged if he moved it a little too suddenly, how he still had nightmares of a shield crashing into an arc reactor and how a few words on a scrap of paper and a phone from last decade wasn’t going to fix that.

But now he was face-to-face with Steve, all of that evaporated, and he found he only had one thing to say. “The kid needs help. Now.”

Steve swallowed, his guard still up, but said, “Ok.” He turned his attention to Barnes. “Buck? You alright?”

“He’s fine,” Tony snapped. “Help me free the kid.”

But Steve was still looking at Barnes. The former sergeant hadn’t moved, still on his knees with his head down. “What did you do him?”

“What _I_ do to _him?_ ” And just like that, all the rage was back. Because even after everything, Rogers couldn’t see past one man, even when he should. “How about what he did to my kid? _Look_ at him, Rogers. He’s been like this for hours - if not longer. They were _torturing_ -”

“Bucky wouldn’t -”

“The Winter Soldier would!”

Steve was already going over to Barnes’s side, examining him. Tony could feel the kid start to struggle again, frantically shaking his head. “It’s ok,” Tony breathed. “I’m not going to let him go. You’re safe from him.”

“Bucky?” Tony turned to see Steve cupping Barnes’s head in his hands, examining him for injury, before looking at Tony with barely concealed rage. _“What did you do?”_

“He’s immobilised. That’s all. No damage.” Tony couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Rogers, if he’s hurt my kid, I don’t care who’s orders he’s following, I’ll -”

“He’s not following anyone’s orders!” Steve retorted. “Shuri took care of that in Wakanda.”

Tony recalled the photos of Bucky and T’Challa. “Are you sure that’s what they did? Because unless your old military buddy is into kidnapping teenagers in his free time, then -”

He could feel Peter’s panic increasing and pulled him closer to his side, running a hand through his dark curls, trying to calm him.

Steve had found the device keeping Bucky immobilised. It was a thin sheet of metal, almost invisible, wrapping over the front of his chest. Steve shot Tony a look before going to rip it off.

“Steve, wait! Don’t -”

Too late. Sparks flew up Steve’s arm and he broke away with a hiss of pain, turning to glare daggers at Tony. “Let him go, Stark.”

“No.”

“Tony, I swear to god, if you don’t get that thing off him-”

“I’m protecting us. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do.”

“We don’t need protection! He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore!”

“I’m sorry if I’ve lost faith in your promises, _Captain_.”

Steve buried his face in his hands in a way that threw Tony for a moment. He had been expecting a fight, for Rogers to come at him swinging. “Fine.” Steve sounded resigned, and for a wild moment, Tony thought that he was finally, for once, seeing his side of things, seeing that he was _right._

Then Steve knelt beside Bucky and went to grip the immobilisation device again, electrocution be damned. So Tony raised his repulser and fired.

Steve was knocked off his feet, landing halfway across the workshop. Tony stood so he was in front of Peter, the nanites encasing his head for full protection as he aimed the repulser a second time.

Steve shook off the hit, charging Tony, who knocked him back again. Steve got back to his feet, glaring at Tony. “I can do this all day.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one. Gotta say, Cap - it’s getting a little old.”

Tony went to fire a third time, only to feel a sudden pain in his ankle, almost knocking him off balance. “What the - kid? What are you doing? _”_

Tony stumbled as Peter swung his legs into Tony a second time, the metal band colliding with the nanite suit with a _clang._ Steve tried to use the distraction to move back to Barnes again, but Tony righted himself and increased the power to the repulser, ready to fire in an instant. “Rogers - _don’t.”_

He glanced back at Peter, who was staring up at him imploringly, shaking his head. Tony spared a look at Steve, to make sure he wasn’t trying anything, then to Peter said, “Kid, it’s ok. I’m not going to hurt him. Not if he’s smart and doesn’t - _ow!”_

Peter kicked him a second time, that imploring look turning to anger and frustration.

“Tony,” Steve said softly. “Let’s talk about this. Just release Bucky and we can -”

“Not while Peter’s around. I’m not letting him -”

This time, Tony saw Peter’s kick coming and dodged it. The kid was still shaking his head at him, tears of frustration in his eyes. “Kid, it’s ok. I’m not going to let him go - not until you’re safe.”

But Peter just kept shaking his head, turning his pleading gaze from Tony to Steve. Steve softened - just a fraction. “I wouldn’t do anything that I thought would hurt you, son.”

Peter let loose a scream of pure frustration that echoed in his throat as he kicked his feet against the floor, struggling against restraints he knew he couldn’t break.

“Kid…” Shooting Steve a warning look, Tony crouched back down to Peter’s side, removing the Iron Man helmet and wiping away the tears that were spilling down Peter’s cheeks. “I know you’ve been through a lot today -”

Peter just shook his head, jerking out of Tony’s hands. He met his mentor's eyes, and Tony felt his own stab of desperation and frustration. All he wanted was Peter free and safe, at home forcing May to watch Star Wars, worried about school and girls instead of brainwashed super-soldiers and buzzsaws.

“Tony…” Steve tried again. “He’s trying to tell you something.”

“Yeah, I got that much,” Tony snapped at him, but Peter nodded frantically at Steve’s words, glancing from Steve to Tony with imploring eyes. “You can tell me when we’re safe.”

Enough was enough. He was getting Peter out of here - _now._ Tony went to wrap his arms around the teenager, but Peter dodged him, shaking his head again, looking back towards Barnes. “Peter, I told you, he won’t hurt -”

Peter yelled again, the sound faint and tinny behind the gag, shaking his head, shuffling away from Tony. Tony shot a glance at Steve, this time not to check on whether the soldier was mounting a move to attack, but for help. It was a reflex leftover from a different time, but Steve seemed to understand, because he raised his hands slowly, showing surrender even as he looked at Barnes with increasing desperation. “Ok,” Steve said in low voice, his words aimed at Peter. “I’m not going to move, ok? I’m going to stay right here, until we understand what you’re trying to tell us.”

Peter’s eyes closed in gratitude as he nodded his thanks. Tony’s every instinct was still telling him to grab the kid and fly as far from here as possible, but he grit his teeth and lowered the repulser still aimed at Steve. “Ok, kid,” he said. “I’m listening.”

Peter took a few deep breaths through his nose. Tony let him catch his breath before hestarted with, “Did Barnes hurt you?”

Peter shook his head emphatically, making Tony frown. “Kid, I got pictures. He was hurting you, there was a tube up your nose and he was -” He broke off as Peter shook his head again. “Not hurting?” Tony clarified. Peter nodded.

“Tony,” Steve broke in, his tone careful, not wanting to break their peace treaty. “What do you mean, you got pictures?”

“They’ve been sending me photos all day,” Tony got out, not wanting to think about them. “Of Peter. Of the things being done to him, and -”

“Who’s _they_?”

Tony shot him a look. “If they’ve activated the Winter Soldier? I’m going to take a guess at Hydra.” 

But Peter was shaking his head again, looking back at Barnes.

“Not Hydra?” Tony asked. “Someone else figured out to control Barnes?”

Peter shook his head again, kicking his feet against the floor in frustration.

“Woah, woah. Don’t hurt yourself. We’ll work this out.”

“Peter, is it?” Steve cut in, still cautious. Peter nodded. “Ok. Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Steve. Was Bucky helping you?”

Tony readied himself to chew Steve out for not being able to see past the end of his own nose when it came to Barnes, when Peter nodded.

A loud silence filled the workshop. Tony blinked, not comprehending.

“Helping you? How the fuck was he helping you?”

In response, Peter looked desperately over to where Barnes was still on his knees, then back to Tony. The pleading look in his eye was unmistakable.

“Tony.” Steve’s tone matched the kid’s expression. “Bucky didn’t do this. Let him go. _Please._ ”

For the first time since entering the workshop, Tony looked directly at Barnes. He was frozen on his knees, completely still except for the slight shake in the solider’s body; a reaction to the electrical currents keeping him in place. His arm hung limp by his side, the fingertips trembling.

_ The hand that had wrapped around his mother’s throat and - _

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, a throbbing pain starting behind his eyes. Logically, he knew it hadn’t been Barnes. Not really. It had been Hydra, and Hydra was dead.

Logically, he knew that.

But there was a big gap between that logic and actually approaching his parents’ killer, getting close enough to remove the device, to _free_ him -

A heavy weight was suddenly pressing against his chest, and Tony opened his eyes to see brown curls nestled against his shoulder. Peter was leaning into him, forehead against the nanite housing unit. Tony’s first reaction was to panic, thinking Peter was more hurt than he let on, slumping against him for support when he realised it wasn’t that at all. The kid was trying to comfort him the best he could in his situation, and that nearly broke Tony right then and there.

He did not deserve Peter in his life - he knew that. But he was, whether Tony had earned that joy or not, and he hadn’t even been able to protect him. He _still_ couldn’t protect him, couldn’t free him from his bonds, couldn’t even give him the decency of moving around and speaking for himself -

Tony looked back over at Barnes. Steve was now kneeling at his side, muttering words of assurance and comfort in his ear, something about getting him free, getting him safe.

_Oh._

“Thanks, kid,” Tony whispered. He guided Peter so he was leaning against one of the legs of the workbench, making him as comfortable as he could before he took a deep breath and approached Barnes.

He had let it happen again. Whether this was Hydra or someone else, they had found his weak point, and exploited it. A supposed genius, and yet a few photos had had him making the same mistake all over again; going on the attack instead of just taking just a minute to think things through, to let the logic catch up with his emotions.

_Think of the fence, not the ambulance._

He thought he had been. But the fence wasn’t having the right weapon. The fence was never having to use the weapon in the first place.

Tony couldn’t make eye contact with Steve as he laid a gauntlet against the device keeping Barnes immobile. It retracted back into the nanite suit, and then Barnes was gasping long, deep breaths as he collapsed against Steve’s shoulder, eyes closed. Steve threw his arms around him, and Tony expected another jab, another accusation, but instead Steve just said, with full sincerity, “Thank you.”

Tony was staring at the floor, very aware that he was about a foot away from the man who had pulled his father from that car while Howard had begged for his wife’s life, the man who had hit him with that metal arm and _kept_ hitting until -

Tony felt his breath catch and scrambled away, turning his back on the soldiers as the anxiety that had been threatening to swarm him all day finally got the better of him, stealing the air from his lungs and having him bend over double. _Not now not now not now -_

“Tony!”

Tony fought for words, wanting to tell Steve to just leave him alone, to take Barnes and just go where he didn’t have to think about either of them ever again, but he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe -_

_“Tony!”_

Something in the harsh tone of Steve’s voice was enough to make Tony turn around, and -

_No._

The woman - the one who had been holding the shotgun, the one that Tony had completely forgotten about the moment he saw Steve in the doorway - had snaked one arm around Peter’s neck, holding him close to her, a small device in her right hand.

Tony found his voice. “Don’t you dare.” He had a repulser raised in an instant, ready to fire, but his hands were shaking and the kid was in the way.

Steve had also started forward, but the woman had pulled Peter closer to her with a small smile. “I wouldn’t recommend that. _Either_ of you.”

“Steve…”

The hoarse voice caught Tony off guard. Barnes had reached up to grab Steve’s wrist, strength starting to return. “The gag,” Barnes croaked out. “It’s a bomb.”

The world flashed white. For a moment, nothing existed for Tony outside of Peter’s panicked eyes, staring at Barnes in disbelief and fright. “I’m sorry,” Barnes continued, speaking to Peter. “I saw it used on someone else. I wasn’t sure if yours was the same. I didn’t want…I didn’t want to freak you out. I’m sorry.”

“Touching.” The woman adjusted her grip on Peter and started pulling him to a far corner of the workshop.

“Don’t,” Tony warned as the repulser started to whir, but the woman shook the small device in her hand.

“Careful, Stark. You don’t want me to accidentally press this button, do you?”

“Tony,” Steve said softly, putting a warning hand on his chest. Tony didn’t take his eyes off the woman, but he lowered the weapon a few inches.

“Who are you?” Steve demanded.

“I’m sure between Barnes and Stark you’ll be able to piece that together.”

Tony frowned - the woman had seemed vaguely familiar, but he still couldn’t place her. She was nearly at the back of the workshop now. Tony didn’t know why she had chosen that direction and not the door; why she was choosing to corner herself instead of head for the exit.

“Don’t try anything,” she warned them. “That includes you, Parker.” Then she let Peter collapse to the floor at her feet, her eyes never leaving Tony’s as she fumbled for a panel on the wall behind her. She pressed her thumbprint to it, and what had appeared to be a plain wooden wall behind her slid to one side, revealing a cramped metal interior. An elevator.

“I’m usually all for a good secret door,” Tony quipped. “But if you think you’re taking the kid anywhere, I strongly suggest thinking differently.”

“He can come with me alive, or he can stay with you dead. Which is up to you, Stark.” She was already reaching for Peter, preparing to drag him into the elevator with her.

“Just tell us what you want!” Tony noted the desperation that had crept his voice, and decided he didn’t care. The pressure from Steve’s hand on his chest increased, but he took a step forward anyway, staring down this woman that had put his kid through hell. “Money? Revenge? Weapons? I’ve heard them all. So which is it this time?”

“I want you to answer your phone, Stark.”

Tony blinked at her, confused. “You want me to _what?”_

“In five minutes or so, when your phone rings - answer it.” Her arm was around Peter’s throat again, dragging him close to her even as the kid fought against her grasp. Somewhere beneath his barely contained panic, Tony noted that Peter, even restrained, should have been able to break free given his strength, but the woman held on to him without breaking a sweat as she prepared to close the elevator doors.

“Heather!”

Barnes’s voice was stronger now as he stumbled to his feet, using Steve for support. He glared at the woman, some of the assassin Tony remembered him as returning to his expression. “The kid’s been through enough. If you need leverage - you can have me.”

Tony’s head whipped around, barely catching Steve’s “Bucky, _don’t_ ” as he stared at Barnes, disbelieving. Barnes’s eyes were fixed on the woman holding Peter hostage, glaring at her, but he stood up straight and raised his arm to show surrender.

“You can put the restraints on me,” Bucky offered. “I’ll come quietly - I won’t fight back. I’ve only known this kid for half a day but I can tell you now that you won’t get the same deal from him. He’ll fight you tooth and nail with everything he has.” Bucky glanced sideways at Steve. “I know the type.”

“A touching sentiment,” Heather replied. “But you all have your parts to play. This is Peter’s. Play yours right, and he gets out of this alive. That’s the only deal you’ll be getting - I suggest you take it.”

Then the doors were sliding shut, about to take Peter from Tony’s sight.

“Pete!” Tony called after him. “Hang on - I’m coming for you! I promise I’m coming.”

But the doors had already clanged shut, and Peter was gone.

Tony was barrelling over to the elevator doors in a second, trying to pry them open. They wouldn’t budge, even with the strength of the Iron Man suit behind them. He examined the panel Heather had used instead. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Time to wake up - I got a job for you.”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Get those doors open, yesterday.”

“On it, Boss.”

Tony turned back around, bypassing Steve to look Barnes directly in the eye for the first time. “Why would you do that?” he demanded.

Barnes didn’t get a chance to answer. Tony’s phone had started to ring.

Tony had to house the nanites to pull the phone out of his pocket, the suit uncurling from his skin, leaving him feeling open and exposed.

“Who is it?” Steve asked. “Who’s calling you?”

A split second before he checked the Caller ID, Tony knew. Some logical part of his mind was finally putting pieces into place, seeing things with a clarity he hadn’t had before. He looked down at the phone’s display.

_Secretary Thaddeus Ross calling._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who figured this out? Some of you definitely figured this. You clever cookies.


	9. Chapter 9

_Peter hadn’t believed his ears when Tony had invited him to Wakanda with him for the week. The billionaire had rolled his eyes at Peter’s spluttered “You’re kidding, right?” and told him not to bother packing - Pepper had sorted all of that out for him, whatever that meant._

_It turned out to mean a suitcase full of brand new clothes, all with designer labels that probably cost more than what Peter would spend on clothes in a year, maybe two. He had protested the expense, but Tony had cut him off, pointing out he was meeting royalty, and that he should dress the part._

Right. Royalty.

_“Do I, I don’t know, bow?”_

_Peter hadn’t torn his eyes away from the window of Tony’s private plane as they made their way into Wakanda. The country was a lush paradise; a distinct contrast to the concert jungle of New York. Tony was buried in a tablet, seemingly unimpressed by the view, but Peter had caught him gazing out the window in wonder when he was returning from the bathroom, when Tony had thought he had been alone._

_“No bowing,” Tony instructed._

_“What…what do I call him? Your Highness? Or is it Your Grace, for kings?”_

_“You can call him T’Challa. He’ll call you Peter.”_

_“Ok. Ok.” Peter bounced in his chair, his foot vibrating against the footrest until a look from Tony made him still. “How do I say hello?”_

_“Jesus, kid, it’s not an alien planet. They’re still human. They say hello.”_

_“No, I meant - how do you say hello in Wakandan?”_

_That made Tony pause. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Peter saw him wince as he added, “I hadn’t thought to ask.”_

_T’Challa had met them right off the plane, shaking Tony’s hand and then offering the same to Peter. “You must be Peter. Tony has told me much about you. I hear you’re a very bright and capable young man.”_

_“Thank you, Mr Panther, sir.”_

_It slipped out before he knew what he was saying, and immediately turned scarlet. T’Challa just gave him an understanding smile. “T’Challa is fine. Please, let me show you around. My sister awaits us inside. I think you two will get along very well.”_

_Peter swallowed hard, deliberately not looking at Tony as he scurried behind him and T’Challa into the palace._

Mr Panther. Seriously?

_But all of Peter’s embarrassment and awkwardness vanished the second he saw the Wakandan lab._

_The first time Peter had stepped foot inside Tony’s workspace in the Avengers compound, he thought he had gone to Disneyland. He had never seen so much technology in one place; had spent hours there and still hadn’t discovered it all. He couldn’t imagine anything could top it._

_Until now._

_The conversation around him became meaningless noise as Peter gaped at the slick interior of the lab. The walls resembled cave rock, the holoscreens and workbenches surrounding a central pillar painted in vibrant colors and street art-style patterns. Everywhere Peter looked there was some new device he couldn’t wait to examine, some screen showing inventions he hadn’t thought possible for at least another five or ten years, even in Tony’s capable hands._

_“Are you here to catch flies?”_

_The sharp female voice brought Peter back to reality. He turned to see a girl his own age, dark braids piled up into an intricate knot on top of her head, examining him with one eyebrow raised. “What?” he asked._

_“Because you’ll catch flies with your mouth hanging open like that. Or you would, if any could get in here. It’s completely sanitary. Most of the time.” Peter saw the girl look down at T’Challa’s sandalled feet. “How many times I told you to keep your toes to yourself in my lab, brother?”_

Brother? _“Peter, please meet my sister, Shuri. She is twice as smart as anyone else in Wakanda, and three times as rude as well.”_

_Shuri smacked him good-naturedly on the arm. “Twice as smart as anyone anywhere. You underestimate me.” It appeared Shuri and Tony had already had their introduction and hellos as Peter had been staring, gormless, around the lab, because now all three were staring at him._

_He gave an awkward wave. “Hi, I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”_

_Despite his less than ideal first interaction with the Wakandan princess, it wasn’t long before Peter and Shuri were acting as if they’d been friends for years. Peter had remained a little awkward and uneasy in her presence for a couple of days, until Shuri showed him her remote transmissions car (easily the coolest thing Peter had ever seen, even after nearly a year of work with Tony). She had slipped behind the wheel, miming driving with a dopey “Broom broom, I’m in me mum’s car” and Peter had replied, without skipping a beat, “Get out me car!”_

_At Shuri’s exasperated “Mum!” the two had burst into a fit of giggles, and their friendship was confirmed._

_Peter barely saw Tony over the next week, except when he dropped by the lab to compare notes on nanotechnology with Shuri. Peter was amazed to see Shuri correct Tony on several occasions and was even more amazed to see Tony take the corrections with nothing but a small smile and an, “Interesting. Go on.”_

_It was the fifth day of Peter’s stay before he saw Tony one-on-one, when Tony invited him up to dinner in his suite. It was almost identical to Peter’s, larger than May’s entire apartment, and Peter was surprised when he entered to see Tony on his own, two trays of food in front of him. “Hey, kid. Hungry?”_

_Peter nodded, and Tony grinned as he lifted the lids off the trays with a flourish to reveal two cheeseburgers and fries. If Peter had been hungry before, now his mouth watered as he took a seat opposite Tony and dug in.  
_

_“No, please, don’t wait or anything.” Peter froze, sauce dripping onto his place, then realised Tony was joking. “Jesus, kid, they’d think they were starving you.”_

_Peter tried and failed to talk through a mouthful of burger, so he hastily swallowed and said, “Everything here has been delicious.”_

_“Yep.”_

_“And so healthy too.”_

_Tony grinned as he started picking at his fries. “Best food on the planet, most likely.”_

_“Is it bad that I’ve been craving an American cheeseburger since I got here?”_

_“Probably,” Tony admitted. “But I’ve been the same. Don’t tell Pepper.” He waited for Peter to finish his burger before he asked, “How are you liking it here? I probably should have checked in sooner,” he added, an apologetic note in his voice._

_“No, it’s been great,” Peter assured him. “You’ve been busy. And I’m learning a lot from Shuri.”_

_“Me too. Really,” he added at Peter’s surprised look. “She’s given me some good ideas for the next suit. Their nanotechnology is ahead of mine. Just. That stays between us though.”_

_Peter had never heard his mentor admit that anyone was even remotely ahead of him in anything. Tony’s phone buzzed and Peter expected him to answer it, but instead Tony shot it an irritated look before turning it off. “You and Shuri seem to be getting along?”_

_“Yeah, she’s great.”_

_Tony pushed the rest of his fries towards Peter, indicating for him to help himself. “You’ve been spending a lot of time together.”_

_“Yeah, well, like you said. Leaning a lot.”_

_Tony fixed Peter with a look, and Peter’s heart sank a bit. He knew Tony didn’t just do casual catch-up dinners. There was something he wanted to talk about. Had he done something wrong?_

_“Um,” Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Ok. Here goes. We don’t have to have…'the talk', do we?”_

_Peter went bright red as he stuttered, “What? No! It’s not like…_ no! _”_

_Tony let out a long, relieved exhale, although he didn’t fully relax. “Ok. Good. Just friends.”_

_“Yeah. Just friends.”_

_“And she doesn’t know about…?” Tony mimed Peter’s web-slinger move._

_“No,” Peter said quickly. “I mean…should I?” That look was back - the ‘we need to have a serious talk’ look. So Peter wasn’t off the hook just yet. “Mr Stark?”_

_“Look, kid.” Tony gave up any pretence of eating. “I’m not just over here for a social visit.”  
_

_“Ok? I mean, I figured. It was tech-related, right?”_

_“Partly. And also partly…we’re discussing the Sokovia Accords.”_

_Peter froze in his chair. He never heard Tony mention the Accords - not once since Germany. Peter had sensed it was a sore subject and had steered well clear. “What about the Accords?”_

_“Amending them,” Tony elaborated. “Taking on the critical feedback, as it were.” When he saw Peter’s confused look, Tony added, “Something the rogue Avengers might actually sign in return for amnesty.”_

_“Sure?” Peter still wasn’t sure what this had to do with him._

_“It includes a clause for minors,” Tony added and - ah, there it was. “You can work anonymously, keep the whole secret identity schtick, as long as you’re sponsored by someone under the Accords.”_

_“You?”_

_“No, Barton said he’d come out of retirement. Of course me, kid. That lasts until you’re twenty-one.”_

_“What happens when I turn twenty-one?”_

_Tony hesitated then said, “At this point? Either you give up the suit, or you come forward - at least to the government. The general public can be kept in the dark but those up top would need to know.”_

_A stab of panic made Peter stare back at Tony, not sure what he was hearing. “But, Mr Stark, I can’t. What about May and my friends at school and -”_

_“Woah, kid, slow down. You don’t have to make that decision for another six years, ok? And that’s if these Amendments even pass.”_

_“Do you think they will?”_

_“Having the support of the most technologically advanced country in the world is a bit of a leg-up. But…” Tony ran his hand through his hair, and for a second Peter caught a glimpse of how tired he looked. He always thought of Tony as invincible, untouchable, but for that brief moment when the shadows under his mentor’s eyes seemed darker, the lines around his eyes deeper, he realised Tony was just…a person._

_He shook himself. He knew that - obviously Tony was a person. But maybe not an invincible one. At least not all the time._

_“There’s someone who’s making that a bit difficult,” Tony finished._

_“Secretary Ross?” Peter guessed. “He’s the one who pushed for the Accords, right?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“He’s not for amending them?”  
_

_“Oh, he is. But he wants to make them stricter, not the other way around. The response pretty much tanked his career, and re-election’s coming up. So he’s made things…difficult.” Tony must have caught Peter’s expression, because he quickly rearranged his features into something more casual, that exhausted look gone as soon as it had come on. “Sorry - I shouldn’t be dumping all that on you. Tell me more about what Shuri has been showing you in that James Bond lab of hers.”_

_They talked until past midnight, only realising what time it when Peter yawned loudly. Tony was moving immediately, going to usher him out the door. “Right. Past your bedtime.”_

_“I’m fifteen. I don’t have a bedtime.”_

_“Uh huh. You ok to get back to your room? This place can be a maze.”_

_“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry all the time.”_

_“Alright, alright.” Tony paused as Peter stood in the doorway, his hand awkwardly raised, as though he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He settled for letting the hand fall onto Peter’s shoulder. “Sleep well. I mean that. No staying up until 4 am on your phone.”_

_“Says you.”_

_“Yes. I’m a terrible example; don’t do anything I would do. Or might do. Or have done. Ever.”_

_Tony went to close the door, but Peter stopped him. “Mr Stark?” Tony raised his eyebrows at him. “Um…”_ Shit. _Peter had thought he was out of his element when Tony had brought up ‘the talk’, but what he was thinking of saying now was a whole new ballpark._

_“I just wanted to say,” Peter stammered out. “Um…” Shoot, he was definitely overstepping. “Just…if you ever needed to talk to someone. About stuff. Stressful stuff, or the Accords, or Ross…whatever. I’d…I’d be happy to listen.”_

_Tony was so quiet that Peter could hear the pounding of his heart. He’d definitely overstepped. “Thanks, Peter.” Tony’s eyes had found a spot on the floor to stare at. “But that’s not for you to deal with, ok? Between you and me, and I don’t think Ross will be around much longer. The way his career is going right now? I bet you never even have to meet him.”_

***

_“Ross?”_

Steve’s voice was incredulous as he looked over Tony’s shoulder at the caller ID. Tony was just staring, his mind filled with white noise. He had found Peter. He’d _found_ him. And he’d had him snatched away again, right under his nose and he’d done _nothing_ \- 

A gentle hand on his shoulder shook him out of his reverie. “Tony? Answer it.”

The hand was Steve’s. Tony batted it away as he took a deep breath and accepted the call, putting it on speaker. “Ross? I’m going to kill you. I hope you know that.”

The threat was met with a low laugh from the other end. “You can try. I don’t think you’d like the consequences.”

“Give me back my damn kid.” Tony saw the surprised looks on both Steve’s and Barnes’s faces, but ignored them.

“Eventually,” Ross conceded. “I’m on speaker, right? Hello, Rogers. Miss me?”

“Not particularly,” Steve replied.

“I have to say, I’m almost impressed,” Ross continued. “I was sure Stark wouldn’t be able to resist a second shot at taking out Barnes. Especially once he thought the Winter Solider had his precious intern.”

Tony didn’t spare a look at Barnes, eyes roaming the warehouse. “Looking for the cameras, Stark?” Ross taunted him. “I’m sure you’ll find them eventually. But don’t disable them just yet, would you? We’re not finished here.”

“Get to the point,” Steve cut in.

“You always did have a temper, didn’t you, Rogers? Not something many people know about you.”

“You heard the patriot, cut to it,” Tony snapped. Only the thought of Peter getting hurt was preventing him from hurling his phone into a wall.

“I underestimated you, Stark,” Ross admitted. “I thought once you saw Barnes, you’d take him out. I mean, you came damn close in Siberia, didn’t you? If Rogers hadn’t stopped you…” He let the thought hang in the air. Tony was aware of Steve and Barnes watching him closely, and decided he didn’t care. Pieces were starting to come together, forming the whole picture.

“I make a lot of mistakes, Secretary-General,” Tony said quietly. “But I learn from them. Framing Barnes? You didn’t really think the same trick would work twice, did you?” _It almost did_ , that nagging voice reminded him.

“I had hoped it might,” Ross replied.

“I take down Barnes, Rogers takes down me,” Tony concluded, ignoring Steve’s intake of breath at his words. “You get the whole thing on camera.”

He heard Ross chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Finally cluing in, are you Stark?”

“I bet that would have looked real good for you,” Tony continued. “The Accords’ biggest dissenter takes down their biggest supporter? I’m guessing that would have put that failing career right back on track.”

“It _will_ put that career back on track,” Ross snapped at him. “I still have all the pieces left to sell that story. You, Rogers, Barnes, and a whole lot of cameras.”

“I won’t do it.” Steve’s voice broke through Tony and Ross’s exchange. “If you think I’m going to hurt Tony like that -”

“Why not? You almost did last time.”

Tony’s breath had caught in his throat. Surely Ross wasn’t expecting Tony or Steve to _kill_ \- 

“No need to get dramatic,” Ross said, as though he had read Tony’s mind. “I was hoping for the real thing, but it seems we’re moving onto the stage show version. You have to make it look good though. Get the headlines all excited. _Fugitive Captain America attacks National Hero over public safety law reforms._ That’s not bad - I’d definitely buy that paper. I’ll even let you and Barnes escape afterwards, Rogers. Nothing better to speed along law reform than two super-powered terrorists on the loose who could take down Iron Man."

Steve’s hands were clenched so tightly they were shaking. “I _won’t,_ ” he insisted. “I won’t hurt Tony, and I certainly won’t help you.”

“Did you forget my trump card, Rogers?” Tony closed his eyes, trying to fight off a splitting headache as Ross continued. “Are you so intent on keeping your Hydra pet safe that you’d throw a teenager to the slaughter?”

“No.” Tony’s eyes opened at Barnes’s voice. It was the first time he’d spoken throughout the entire interaction, and his tone was low and firm. “The kid doesn’t get hurt. That’s not an option.”

“It speaks! You did train him well then, Rogers.”

“Shut up,” Steve growled. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Stage the fight,” Ross ordered. “Make Stark lose. Make it look bad. Then the kid gets to go home to his aunt and his school books. I’ll give you ten minutes to decide. Oh, and Stark? If you decide to go down there guns blazing, and somehow manage to save him before Hansen blows his head off, do know I have a signed arrest warrant on my desk that would sentence Colonel Rhodes to the Raft indefinitely. Ten minutes,” he warned. Then he hung up, and an ugly silence was left in his wake.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly overwhelmed by this story's response. Thank you so much x
> 
> Also a general response to the last chapter's comments: Yeah, Ross can die in a hole.

_Shuri caught Peter in the lab early in the morning, having ignored Tony’s orders to go to bed after their cheeseburger dinner. The idea of revealing his identity, even though it was years away, was plaguing him too much for him to consider sleeping. If it was that, or giving up the suit…_

_Peter honestly didn’t know what he would choose. Even though Tony had said it would only be the government who would know his identity, Peter knew leaks were always possible. He knew he had a duty as Spider-man to protect everyone he could, but he also had a responsibility as_ Peter _to protect those close to him. And he wanted a normal life, at least sometimes. He idolised Tony, but he didn’t envy him everything. Peter was relieved that, at the end of the day, he could take off the suit and return to being a normal high schooler._

_He was so wrapped up in his train of thought that the door to the lab whooshing open made him jump, causing him to knock one of Shuri’s prized inventions of its workbench and only just managing to catch it before it hit the floor._

_“Way to go, Paul,” Shuri said, in a flawless American accent, before resuming her normal voice. “Impressive reflexes though. You play sports in America?”_

_“Something like that,” Peter muttered, hastily trying to arrange the workbench back to how it was. “You’re up early.”_

_“You’re up late,” Shuri countered._

_“Couldn’t sleep,” Peter mumbled._

_Shuri’s expression turned to one of genuine concern. “Everything ok?”_

_“Yeah,” Peter brushed it off. “Just a lot on my mind, you know. Normal teenage stuff.”_

_“I do know. About having a lot on your mind. Not the normal teenage stuff.” Shuri considered then said, “I have something that might help.”_

_Twenty minutes later, they were headed into the Wakandan jungle, hauling two cases of equipment between them. Peter could have carried it all, but thought that might have looked suspicious. The thought made him somewhat sad; he liked Shuri a lot. He didn’t want to have to hide things from her._

_There was something else bothering him too; something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Like they were being watched. “Are you sure we’re supposed to be out here?”_

_“It’s expressively forbidden,” Shuri replied happily. “So yes - I’m sure. Sure that we’re_ not _supposed to be out here. Here will do.” They had paused in a small clearing. Shuri’s expert hands started assembling the equipment, faster than what Peter could follow. “Have you flown a drone before?”_

_Peter shook his head, excitement mounting despite a cloying anxiety growing in his chest. “Well, you won’t be flying one today either,” Shuri continued. “Because this is not a drone.” She finished the assembly before showing the device to Peter._

_Peter considered it. “It looks like a drone.”_

_“Drones are basic,” Shuri scoffed. “This? This is a virtual reality sensory input device. Not the best name, I know. I’m still working on that.”_

_“You should ask Mr Stark. He’s good at acronyms.”_

_Shuri hummed in agreement as she handed Peter a pair of goggles. “On,” she ordered. Peter pulled them over his head, but hesitated before he placed them over his eyes. “What’s the matter, Parker? Don’t you trust me?”_

_That nagging feeling wouldn’t leave him alone, but Peter pulled them on anyway. He saw nothing but darkness. “Oh yeah,” he grinned. “Like a high-tech sleep mask. Simulates total dark- ow!” Shuri had punched him in the shoulder._

_“I have to set it up first. It takes a minute.”_

_Peter pushed up the goggles, taking a look around the jungle again. “Scared of getting in trouble, Parker?” Shuri teased him._

_“No, just…”_

_“I was joking! Well, not entirely. I’m not meant to be out here alone. But it’s just a safety precaution - nothing out here can actually hurt us. Or are you scared of your babysitter finding out you snuck off?”_

_“Mr Stark is_ not _my babysitter. And I don’t think he’d notice. He’s been pretty busy with your brother, with the Accords -” He broke off suddenly. Was that confidential?  
_

_“My brother keeps no secrets from me,” Shuri assured him. “I’d like to see him try.”_

_“What…what do you think? About the Accords?”_

_Shuri considered for a moment, then said, “If you make a law that applies to a group of people, and half the people don’t agree, I don’t think that makes it a good law.”_

_“I guess.”_

_“Do you agree with the Accords?”_

_Peter hesitated. He knew he had fought for Tony’s side in Germany, but he’d done that because_ Iron Man, _of all people, had asked him to. It hadn’t been a political statement. “I can see both sides, I guess.”_

_“I believe the American phrase for that is a cop-out.”_

_Peter thought about it some more. “I guess if Mr Stark and your brother can make them better then…maybe I agree? Wouldn’t you?”_

_Shuri shrugged. “I think they’re doing what they can. Now - are you ready to fly?”_

_“Yeah!” Peter tried to fake more enthusiasm than he was feeling, the anxiety still present even though he suspected this was about to be one of the coolest moments of his life._

_Shuri didn’t buy it for a moment. “This is what I like to do when I can’t relax,” she told him. “If I’m stuck on a problem in the lab or my mother and I have had an argument, I come out here and go flying out over the treetops. It gives things perspective. And - it’s also super cool. Now put the glasses on; I’m being a good friend here.”_

_“Yes, you are,” Peter agreed, and secured the goggles around his face. He immediately had a strange out of body sensation. He was seeing what the (not) drone was seeing, only a few metres of where he was actually standing. Then, he was rising._

_“Woah.” Peter automatically put his arms out for balance, even though he could still feel his feet on the ground. The trees in his field of vision changed from thick trunks to leafy canopies. When his view burst into blue skies, he couldn’t stop the goofy grin that spread across his face._

_“Ok. This is amazing.”_

_“Of course it is. I designed it. But that’s only the beginning. Ready?” Then Peter was speeding forward._

_It was one of the most exhilarating and surreal moments of his life. He could feel his body was still firmly rooted on the jungle floor, but he really did feel as if he was soaring over the jungle, all his worries a hundred feet below him. Even that uneasy feeling that had been tickling the back of his neck seemed far away now. The ‘flying’ wasn’t quite on par with web-slinging, but even his best trips across New York couldn’t compete with this view - the untouched African paradise spread out below him._

_“This is incredible!” He realised he was shouting above wind that wasn’t really there, and hastily lowered his voice. “Sorry.” He didn’t get an answer. “Shuri?”_

_His flight suddenly stopped, and he was suspended above the trees. “Shuri?” Peter repeated. “I stopped. Why -”_

_Then it was back in full force - that overwhelming sensation that something was wrong. Peter was already ripping off the goggles, going into a fighting stance, when he felt a prick in his neck, and then darkness was rushing up to meet him._

_***_

It was Stark who broke the silence first. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Start a countdown for ten minutes. Tell me when it’s nearly up.”

Bucky jumped when he heard a female Irish voice respond, “On it, Boss.” from somewhere inside Stark’s suit. He felt pain in his hand and looked down to see he had dug his fingernails into his palm, drawing blood. The aftereffects from Stark’s device were finally wearing off, although they had left Bucky feeling tired and drained, as though he’d run a marathon. He had watched as Steve and Stark bickered with Ross over the phone, only speaking up when Ross reminded the other two superheroes what was at stake. 

“No.” The single word brought the others’ attention to him. “The kid doesn’t get hurt. That’s not an option.”

Ross barked some insult that Bucky didn’t bother to listen to. He felt as if his blood was boiling. Someone had tried to frame him, again. Someone had tried to use him to get to Steve - _again._ And this time, they’d dragged some poor kid into the mix as well. A kid he had failed to protect.

Bucky was going to fix that.

Then Stark was busy calling people, trying to get in contact with Rhodes, only to be told that the Colonel was on an Accords-mandated mission and couldn’t be contacted. T’Challa didn’t respond either. Steve was looking around the workshop, trying to spy the cameras, even as he appealed to Stark. “Tony. Let’s work this out.”

Stark’s eyes followed Steve’s around the workshop before he said, “Not here. Outside.”

They used one of their precious minutes to move further into the tree line. “Fri,” Stark asked. “Any cameras out here?”

“Several, Boss.”

_Jesus._ How long had they been watching him and Peter?

“Take them out. Any audio recording too. But leave the ones in the workshop.”

“Tony,” Steve cut in as the AI complied. “I’m not going to…What Ross asked. We’re not doing that.”

When Stark turned to look at his former teammate, Bucky expected to see that look of rage he had seen on the engineer’s face in Siberia. Instead, Stark’s face was lined with desperation he wasn’t bothering to hide.

“He’s _fifteen_.” Stark ran his hand through his already mussed hair, starting to pace. “He shouldn’t be near anything like this.”

“Is he…” Steve hesitated before asking the next question. “Is he yours?”

“My what?”

“You called him your kid.”

That made Stark halt his pacing for half a second before he shrugged the question off. “No. I’ve only known him a year. He works for me.”

Steve shared a look with Bucky. “You have a fifteen-year-old working for you?”

“An enhanced fifteen-year-old,” Bucky added, resulting in Stark giving him a glowering look.

“What do you know about him, Barnes?”

“That’s he’s strong, and he heals - fast. Faster than even me or Steve.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “He’s a _super-solider_?”

“No! He’s a high-schooler!” Stark threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “And now isn’t the time for twenty questions. Now is the time to figure out how to get him back.”

“I’m not hurting you,” Steve repeated doggedly. “That’s not an option.” 

That earned him a glare from Stark. “Oh, so when some government official orders you to, then it’s wrong? But if you do it off your own free will, if _Captain America_ decides to do it, then it’s fine?”

Steve ducked his head. “I’m sorry about Siberia, Tony. I am.” Stark just gave a huff of mirthless laughter.

“We don’t have time for that,” Bucky said, repeating Stark’s earlier sentiment, backed up by Stark’s AI reminding them, “You have five minutes remaining.”

“Shit,” Stark breathed, his chest starting to rise and fall more rapidly. He squeezed his eyes shut and when they opened again, the bitterness was gone, replaced by a look that reflected some of the desperation Bucky was starting to feel.

“Can you stall?” Bucky asked him. He expected an angry retort, but Stark considered it.

“I don’t think so. Cap - what do we have? Give me something to work with here.”

Steve glanced around before he asked, “Are you are we’re not being watched or listened to right now?”

“Only if they got past F.R.I.D.A.Y. So yes, I’m sure.”

“Natasha’s here too,” Steve said in a low voice. “She has a jet on the edge of the forest, ready to go.”

“Ok.” Stark weighed that up. “Extra pair of hands. That’s something.”

“Four minutes, Boss.”

“Barnes.” Stark turned to him. “That woman who took Peter. She said that between you and me, we could figure out who she is. What did she mean by that? What do you know?”

“She said her name was Heather Hansen, that she worked here. I don’t know if either of those things are true. Do you know her?”

“She’s not in F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s facial recognition software.” That wasn’t really an answer. “You said _Hansen,_ right?”

Bucky nodded as Steve cut in. “What Ross is doing is illegal.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Tony snapped at him.

“So can’t we expose him? We go get Peter and -”

“Even if by some miracle we get close to Peter without Hansen hurting him, did you miss the part where Ross goes after Rhodey next? Or does it only matter when it’s your best friend in danger, Rogers?”

Steve fixed Tony with a look that Bucky knew all too well; Steve was trying to put a lid on his temper, to stay level-headed. “I’m trying to help. So is Bucky.”

“Three minutes, Boss.”

Stark let out a yell of frustration before burying his head in his hands, leaning against one of the trees.

“Tony…” Steve started forward, but Bucky interrupted him.

“We’ll get him back.” That wasn’t a promise; that was a fact. There wasn’t another option. He saw Stark look up at him, a wary hope in his eyes.

“Two minutes, Boss.”

Stark looked from Steve to Bucky, then suddenly, his repulser was raised. Bucky immediately went into a defensive stance, but Stark turned the weapon in the opposite direction, pointing at one of the trees.

“Tony?” Steve questioned. “What are you doing?”

“Following a hunch,” Tony replied, and fired.

The tree _exploded._

Bucky reacted on instinct, grabbing Steve and shoving him behind him as he backed them both away from the smoking tree. “What the _hell,_ Stark?”

Stark shushed him as Steve pushed his way back to Bucky’s side, giving him a look that clearly said _You didn’t have to do that._

“Watch.” Tony pointed back to the tree. It was… _healing._ It was the only way Bucky could think to describe it. The gaping hole left by the repulser blast was rapidly filling itself in, the new bark looking like glowing embers as it grew.

“One minute, Boss.”

“What the hell is that?” Bucky demanded, still starring at the tree.

“That,” Stark replied, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Is our plan to save Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Way to go Paul" is a vine. I promise I didn't get Peter's name wrong there. All hail the vine lord Shuri.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING!! Every comment makes me feel all the good warm fuzzy things and are so so appreciated, as are the kudos and views.

General Secretary Thaddeus Ross had managed to have the third-best day of his life.

The first had been when was Betty was born, tied with the day he had married Karen.There had been several other strong contenders, including his promotion first to General, and later to Secretary of State. But the second Ross saw Tony Stark fire at Bucky Barnes, just like the General had been planning for weeks, this day was secured as one of the best he had ever known.

Ross was settled in his lush office, hidden behind the myriad of screens that surrounded him. The screen on the far left showed the apartment Barnes had been staying in when he made his way to the States. Another showed the desert road where he had ordered Barnes’s vehicle to be totalled, forcing him to walk to the nearest shade he could find - a convenient ‘forest’ where Hansen would be waiting to greet him. Not too friendly at first, of course; they didn’t want to arouse suspicion too soon. That was where another camera was pointed; in the small hut where the feeding tube still lay next to the single bed. Hansen had let Barnes call Rogers in for backup, giving him just enough time to give Rogers a location before Hansen had made him hang up the phone, sending Rogers running to the rescue.

It had been laughably easy to get Stark to go charging after his young intern. It had only taken a few well-timed photos. Of course, Ross had to make sure Stark would go it alone. He had sent Rhodes and android they called Vision deep into the Middle East, out of contact range. And Wakanda wouldn’t be lending their help to either Barnes or Stark - not with the trump card Ross was currently holding.

Ross had hoped that Stark would attack Barnes outright and that Rogers would respond in kind. He had seen Stark on his return from Siberia; had seen the damage that Rogers and Barnes had caused. Judging by the battered shield that been clasped in Stark’s hand, Ross had assumed that damage had been mutual. But Ross had been pragmatic, making sure not to put all his eggs in one basket. He had had a Plan B, and in just a few minutes, he would know whether or not it had worked.

He checked his watch. It had been nine minutes and thirteen seconds since he had given Stark the deadline, and yet the cameras in the fake logging workshop remained empty. He didn’t care that Stark had disabled his cameras further out - no doubt he was with Rogers and Barnes, trying to come up with a solution. Ross was sure they wouldn’t find one - he had been too thorough. Even if they chose to not give in to his demands and sacrifice the kid, Ross still had a Plan C. There were enough questions and anxiety raised by Stark’s rash appearance in Utah to warrant Ross to arrest both him and Rhodes, and prove to the public once and for all that their precious heroes were dangerous individuals that needed to be kept behind bars - permanently. And with Stark out of the way and King T’Challa in his pocket, there would be nothing left to stop Ross tracking down the rest of the Avengers and sentencing them to the new and improved Raft. No breakouts this time.

It had just ticked to the ten-minute mark, and Ross had Stark’s number ready to dial and question just how far the engineer was willing to push his intern’s safety, when a movement on the workshop cameras caught his eye.

It was Barnes. The former sergeant had moved into the center of the room, glancing around, as though looking for an exit. Ross leaned closer, his heart pounding. This was it. This was going to secure the Accords - and his career - once and for all.

Ross held his breath as Barnes stood next to the large buzzsaw. For a few seconds, nothing happened.

Then a repulser beam exploded into Barnes’s chest. The soldier hit the floor - and didn’t get up again.

A blur of red and gold lit up the screen as Iron Man landed with a foot either side of Barnes’s chest, raising a hand to fire, not even hesitating. Rogers slammed into Stark’s side, knocking him prone. Rogers straddled his former teammate, preparing to throw a punch as he yelled at Barnes to run, but Stark knocked the super-soldier off him, throwing him back into the workbench.

Ross didn’t bother to stop the smile that spread across his face. He had told them to make it look real, yes, but _this_ …he wondered if the so-called superheroes were actually pretending, or if something had gone horribly wrong in those ten minutes out in the woods that had made them start fighting for real.

_ Wrong for them, anyway. _

Rogers dodged a repulsor blast before realising it was a distraction that allowed Stark to get his fingers around Rogers’s throat. He slammed Rogers against the table that Parker had been tied to, metal fingers tightening on skin. Rogers struggled but it was clear he was running out of air, as Stark’s voice rang across the workshop.

“I don’t want to do this, Steve. Just turn yourself in, and we can sort this out. You can come home - _everyone_ can come home.”

_Nice touch,_ Ross had to admit. Keep Stark sympathetic; make Rogers look like the unreasonable one. Ross wondered if it was killing Rogers to let Stark play the hero while he stuck it out in the villain role. 

Just as it looked like Stark might actually strangle Rogers, Barnes returned and pulled Stark off, deadly and dextrous even without the metal arm to aid him. Stark got in a few good shots but then Rogers was up as well, and the two super-soldiers were ganging up on the engineer with everything they had. It was brutal; even more so than Ross had been expecting. They didn’t draw the fight out, keeping it up just long enough to make it look like Stark had put up a valiant defence, but eventually Barnes and Rogers stood back, leaving a battered and broken Iron Man at their feet.

Then Rogers was pulling at Barnes’s arm, telling him to run - that they had to get out of there. Then they were gone, leaving Stark lying still on the workshop floor. Ross waited five minutes to see if Stark got up again.

He didn’t.

“Bravo, boys,” Ross muttered to himself as he called the number that would send his men into the forest to finish the job. The story was that Captain America killed Iron Man, and Ross didn’t need a pesky billionaire walking around saying anything different. He extracted the video of the fight, turning it into a file that was ready to be uploaded straight to the internet. It would run through so many different sources that it no one would ever be able to trace it back to him. And once the public saw the footage, once they had proof of what Ross already knew - that the Avengers were dangerous - he would finally be given every resource he should have had in the first place to track down every single rogue who dared call themselves a hero.

Ross uploaded the video into the world as he sent out word that the arrest warrant for Rhodes was now official. He and the android would be taken into custody the moment the plane Ross had sent for them touched down on American soil. It had taken some time to craft a cell on the Raft that would hold Vision, but Ross hadn’t pardoned Justin Hammer and released him from prison for nothing. The official story would be that they had been sent after the rogue Avengers to bring them to justice for Stark’s death, and had perished during the mission; more fuel for the fire. Now, there was just one more loose end to tie up.

Hansen answered on the first ring. “Is it done?”

“It’s done. Stark’s down. My men will be along shortly to collect the body.”

“What about the princess?”

“Keep her for a few days, until the dust settles. If her brother keeps playing along, I’ll arrange her pick-up then.”

“And the kid?”

“He’s yours to keep.” That was going to be another win to boost his career. A successful Extremis formula, one that could re-grow lost limbs and create unstoppable soldiers. He might even get the Nobel for that one. “Let me know when you have everything you need from him, and then we’ll talk disposal.”

Ross hung up, leaning back in his chair, feeling the tension that had been building for weeks - years? - fall from his shoulders. He’d done it. He’d finally rid the world of the Avengers.

Yes. Today was a good day.

***

Peter Parker had managed to have the third-worst day of his life.

The top two spots were tied. One was the day he had lost his parents; the other, Ben. There had been several in contention for third place for a while. The time Flash had pantsed him on the field trip to the museum in front of Liz Toomes. Breaking his leg when he was eight after climbing the forbidden tree in the backyard. The ferry incident.

But today had put those contenders to shame. He remembered nothing between being knocked out in the Wakanda jungle, and waking up in what looked like a perfectly ordinary, empty apartment somewhere in Utah.

The first thing he had noticed was that his head was pounding; the lights were too bright, the sounds from the street too loud. He automatically went to put his hands over his ears, only to find that he couldn’t move them. He tried again - no luck. He couldn’t even wiggle his fingers. He was lying on them, and at first, he thought that his attackers had left him in a way that restricted his blood flow. When he rolled onto his side though, he found that he couldn’t move his legs either, and there was something biting into his cheeks and pressing down on his tongue.

The drugs were starting to wear off now, his enhanced metabolism burning through them at a rapid pace, and in their place panic was starting to build. Peter tried to cry out, only to find that whatever was pressed against his cheeks was keeping his jaw locked shut; a thick piece of metal keeping his tongue down. Peter tried again, yelling as best he could in the back of his throat. It hurt, and the sound it produced was so faint and small and that he quickly decided it wasn’t worth the pain of making it again.

_Ok, Peter. Don’t panic. Panicking’s not going to help anything. You’re strong, remember? Like crazy stupid you-can-catch-a-gangway strong. Just break the restraints._

He put everything he could into trying to wrench his limbs apart, but stopped when it became clear that he would do more damage to himself than the bonds. He twisted himself around instead, trying to get a glimpse at what was binding his legs, trying not to freak out further when he saw the thick metal that was wrapped around his ankles.

The drugs. The restraints. Whoever had kidnapped him knew he was more than human. An icy feeling grew in his cut as the realisation came to him. _Does that mean they know I’m Spider-man? Oh god, please don’t let them know I’m Spider-man.  
_

So much for waiting until he was twenty-one. Peter struggled again, despite knowing it was futile, only stopping due to the pain his struggles were causing in his shoulders. He looked down at his ankles again, trying to see where the lock was, if he could break it off, and suffered a fresh wave of claustrophobia and panic when he realised there wasn’t one. There’s wasn’t even a join in the metal where two halves would meet; just one thick, solid band that even his strength couldn’t break.

His first thought after his system finished burning through the effects of the drugs was Shuri. She had been with him in the jungle - had they taken her too? He twisted himself on the floor so he could see the whole apartment, trying to see if the Wakandan princess was tied up and gagged here as well, but he was alone. Peter didn’t know if that was better or worse. Had they taken her somewhere else? Done something worse to her?

He didn’t get far in that line of thinking, however, because at that moment the door to the apartment opened, and Bucky Barnes walked into the room.

He didn’t look like he had in Germany. The cool metal arm was gone, his dark hair hidden under a baseball cap. He was holding groceries of all things - which he immediately dropped when he saw Peter, scanning the apartment. Peter tried to call out for help; he knew Tony wasn’t exactly on great terms with the soldier, but Bucky was friends with Captain America, so he couldn’t be all bad, right? And from the way Bucky had looked at him, the way he was searching the apartment now, it looked like he was just as confused as Peter was.

Seeming sure that the apartment was empty except for them, Bucky finally turned his attention back to Peter. He put his one arm up the air, showing he didn’t mean any harm. “Ok, kid. I don’t know what’s going on, but if you try anything when I get close to you, if this is a trap…”

_A trap? For Bucky? How?_

The soldier suddenly started to make his way towards him and Peter shuffled back, startled, making Bucky halt in his tracks. “Hey, calm down. Whoever did this to you - it wasn’t me. Ok? I’m just as lost as you are. So why don’t I get that thing off your mouth and we can talk?”

Bucky was as strong as Captain America, right? Even if he didn’t have the arm. Peter nodded, and Bucky took that as permission to approach him, kneeling at his side and grasping the gag. “Alright. This might hurt a bit, ok?”

It did hurt - a lot. The pressure Bucky applied as he pulled made the metal bite harder into Peter’s cheeks and tongue, but he put up with it - anything to get it off. He could explain what he knew to Bucky, get him to call Tony, tell him that Shuri might be in danger too…

The gag didn’t break. Bucky tried Peter’s ankles next, then his wrists. “Ok. I can’t break the restraints.” Panic surged in Peter’s chest again, but Bucky quickly reassured him that he knew someone who could help. _Captain America,_ was Peter’s first thought, until Bucky referred to the person as a ‘she’. Maybe one of the other rogue Avengers? Black Widow? Scarlet Witch? Peter hadn’t really met either of them - Germany didn’t exactly count - but they were still kind of the good guys, right?

Bucky squeezed his shoulder, blue eyes full of concern, providing Peter with a moment of comfort that lasted until the bullet hit the carpet an inch away from his head.

Peter’s senses were going haywire as he started trying to wriggle himself along the carpet, aiming for the kitchen counter where there would at least be some cover, but he was so slow and already there was a second shot and -

And then Bucky was there, grabbing Peter under the armpits and tugging him the rest of the way to the kitchen. Peter’s t-shirt rode up as he did so, giving the teenager a nasty carpet burn as Bucky pulled him out of harm’s way, but - as Bucky said - it was better than a bullet. Peter wasn’t sure what would happen to him if he got shot with his advanced healing, but he _really_ didn’t want to find out.

Things decidedly worsened from there. Every time Peter thought he had hit some new low, there was something else even more horrible or humiliating or painful waiting just around the corner. He thought he would never feel so helpless as when Bucky was carrying him through a building full of gunmen, knowing that if Bucky went down or decided to leave him behind that Peter wouldn’t have a chance in hell of defending himself. He had suffered through the claustrophobia of the car trunk, unable to stop himself from colliding with the car interior with every wild swing of the Sedan. He had gotten through the car crash, helped Bucky get them out of the wreckage, and let Bucky carry him even further through the hot Utah desert.

All of that was a nightmare, but Peter’s situation didn’t fully hit him until he and Bucky were far into the weird and creepy forest, and he realised just how badly he had to pee. That set off a whole chain reaction of other thoughts, including how hungry and thirsty he was becoming, and that if he and Bucky couldn’t break the restraints by working together, and if Bucky’s friends were far off and he couldn’t even contact them…

Peter didn’t fully panic until he realised that whoever had tied him up could well have intended it to be permanent. That there was no lock on the restraints because they weren’t _meant_ to be unlocked - ever. 

_Tony will know,_ Peter had thought desperately. _Tony will know how to get them off._

But Tony wasn’t here. And if Tony was looking for him, it would most likely be in Wakanda- not some desert in Utah. Peter and Shuri had been kidnapped in a place they weren’t supposed to be, after telling no one they were going there. How would Tony even know where to start?

Bucky was asking him questions, asking Peter if he was hurt, about his name, his age. Peter answered best he could, eyes on the sky so the tears that were forming there wouldn’t overflow. It wasn’t until Bucky asked the next question that the full gravity of Peter’s situation hit home.

“Kid? Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

Then the tears that Peter had been holding back all day finally started to flow and he was throwing himself against the restraints with everything he had, the clawing sense of claustrophobia and helplessness overtaking him. He felt Bucky’s arm wrap around his chest and fought harder, because he didn’t want to lose what little movement he had left, but at Bucky’s protests that he could dislocate his shoulder, he finally stilled, giving into the tears, and wishing desperately that Tony was there. Tony would have known what to do.

Bucky was doing his best though. The soldier could have ditched Peter anywhere along the way, would have probably had had a better chance of survival on his own. Peter hadn’t missed Bucky wincing when he moved his shoulder which had been hurt in the crash, and which carrying Peter everywhere surely wasn’t helping. The story from Bucky’s time as the Winter Solider had helped, even as Peter had felt his blood go cold hearing just a snippet of what Hydra had put him through.

If Peter thought the bathroom situation was horrible, even though Bucky handled it as well as he could, it was nothing compared to having the feeding tube forced down his throat.

He had been ravenous enough to agree to try it, but had regretted that decision the second the tube was in his body. He hadn’t been able to prevent a second round of tears, trying to focus on Bucky’s voice telling him about how he met Captain America (well, Steve Rogers, he wasn’t Captain America yet), focussing on the comforting weight of Bucky’s arm around his chest.

Peter supposed he must have passed out after that, because the next thing he remembered was being shaken awake by Bucky, telling him he might have a way to break the restraints after all. Peter had been so desperate to be free by then that he agreed, going to far as to let Heather strap him down to the table with the saw; _anything_ to get him out of the metal bands.

That resolve had failed the moment the saw was turned on. Peter felt the vibrations through every bone in his body, and it was so loud it felt like the blade had bypassed his body and cut straight into his skull. His ‘Peter tingle’ (as May affectionately called it) was off the charts, but then again it hadn’t calmed down since he woke in Bucky’s apartment. It was screaming at him to _move move move_ , but he couldn’t move a muscle under the thick ropes that made him even more helpless than before. 

Then Bucky’s hand was on his back, reassuring for all of ten seconds before Bucky was hurling accusations at Heather, demanding her to untie Peter. Peter had realised that he had made the wrong choice in agreeing to this - that now he was completely helpless if something else happened. Which, of course, it did.

All of that had been hell, each event managing to be worse than the last. But none of them competed with seeing Tony force Bucky to his knees, the soldier clearly desperate and in pain, and being able to say nothing to stop it.

Peter should have felt an overwhelming relief when he saw his mentor swoop in to save him, like Peter had trusted he would - but from the moment Tony showed it was clear the engineer didn’t know who Peter needed saving from. Peter had struggled and fought only to be met with Tony’s well-meaning assurances that he was safe now, that it was over, as Bucky remained on his knees with electrical currents flowing through him.

Things had only escalated with the arrival of Captain America in the door, and as two of his all-time heroes looked like they were going to really go to blows, Peter did the only thing he could think of. He raised his bound legs and swung them, hard, into Tony.

It had worked. He had gotten their attention, made them understand, convinced Tony to let Bucky go.

But then, like every other horror Peter had faced that day, it turned out there was something worse coming.

“The gag. It’s a bomb.”

Peter barely heard the rest of the conversation as Heather hauled him to the elevator. He couldn’t hear past the pounding of the blood in his ears, the throbbing of his heart in his chest. The metal around and in his mouth seemed to constrict even further, cutting off his airflow as the elevator doors slammed shut on Tony’s terrified expression and Peter and his captor started their descent.

Either the elevator was very slow or the location they were headed to was well below ground - Peter guessed the latter. When the doors finally opened again, Peter let Heather drag him out by the throat, not daring to fight back as she waved the small device, the one he presumed set off the bomb, in front of his face.

The underground space was some kind of lab, not close to the level of Shuri’s or Tony’s but still well-equipped. Peter got a glimpse of charts surrounding a number of plants before he was dumped unceremoniously on the ground, right on the shoulder that still hadn’t fully healed despite the force-feeding session. He let out a silenced grunt as he rolled himself onto his side, trying to get his bearings. As he did so, he heard a female voice call his name. Not Heather’s - this one was familiar, with a strong Wakandan intonation.

“Peter?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so overwhelmed by and grateful for the response to this story. Thank you for staying with me and our poor boys trying just trying to rescue each other and go home. 
> 
> TW: Needles, some discussion of eating disorders

_Shuri?_

Peter twisted around, rolling onto his other side to see where his name had been called from. His heart skipped a beat before it sank like a stone. On the one hand, he was relieved to see that Shuri was alive and seemed unharmed. On the other, his friend was chained up in an evil underground lair, which didn’t exactly feel like a win.

At least Shuri’s hands were only handcuffed behind her, wrapped around one of the support structures keeping the lab upright, and not in unbreakable bonds like the ones trapping Peter. Fear flashed in the princess’s eyes before it turned to outright anger. “What the hell did you do to him?”

Heather ignored her, checking a phone on one of the workbenches before moving back to Peter. He tried to roll out of her way but it was no use; she grabbed him under the armpits and starting hauling him towards the lab equipment, making Shuri pull desperately on the handcuffs. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”

“Quiet,” Heather ordered. She dropped Peter at the base of one of the workbenches as Shuri continued to curse and swear at her. Peter tried to twist around to shake his head at Shuri, trying to tell her not to get herself hurt, not for him, but then Heather’s shoe was on his bad shoulder, pinning him to the floor and _was her hand glowing?_

Peter tried to wriggle out of the way, but then Heather’s lava-like fingers were an inch from his face. He could feel the heat radiating off her like hot coals but didn’t dare move as the glowing hand got closer.

“Don’t!” he heard Shuri shout at her. “Get away from him!”

“Are you going to be quiet?”

He didn’t hear Shuri’s answer, but he guessed she must have agreed because then the radiating heat retreated from his face and the foot pinning him to the floor vanished. There was the click of boots and the sound of a door shutting, then silence except for his own harsh breathing. The floor was coated in a layer of dust, and he tried not to panic as it started to clog his nose.

“Peter? Are you ok?”

_Definitely not._ Peter managed to push himself to a sitting position, leaning against one of the workbench legs. At least it was easier to breathe up here - just. He looked over at Shuri, who was gazing at him with concern, and nodded.

“Liar.” She gave him a watery smile. “Can you get closer to me? Maybe I can get those off.”  


If there was anyone besides Tony who could free him, it would be Shuri. Peter was about to roll himself over to her when Bucky’s words echoed in his ear.

_The gag. It’s a bomb._

“Peter? What’s wrong? Quick - before she comes back.”

Peter just shook his head at her. He hoped Heather still needed him alive, even if he hated that he was being used against Tony, but if she decided to set that bomb off, he didn’t want to be anywhere near Shuri when it happened. 

Shuri tugged fruitlessly on her own restraints, leaning her head back against the support structure. “They grabbed us in the jungle,” she said quietly, her voice hoarse. “Peter, I’m so sorry.I would never have taken us out there if I had thought it would be dangerous.”  


Peter shook his head at her frantically. _It’s not your fault._

Shuri huffed at him. “They knocked you out straight away. They looked professional - full tactical gear, top of the line weapons…well, not _top_ top. But maybe as good as you can get in the States. That’s all I saw - then they knocked me out too and I woke up here. They’re using me against T’Challa, aren’t they?” Peter didn’t know, but Shuri went on to confirm her own question. “She hasn’t asked me for any information, hasn’t asked me to build anything for her, so that has to be the reason.” Shuri looked back at Peter. “Are they using you to get to Tony?”

Peter nodded, and Shuri cursed. “Bastards.” She yanked at the restraints again. “We’re going to get out. I don’t care who she’s working for - they can’t hold off the entire Wakandan army. Do you know what they want?”

Peter nodded.

“Ransom?”

He shook his head.

“Weapons?”

Peter knocked his head against the workbench in frustration. He wanted to tell Shuri so many things; about the bomb, that it was Ross behind everything, that Tony, Bucky and Captain America were right above their heads, no doubt about to sweep in with some dramatic and heroic rescue plan.

But he couldn’t tell her anything.

“It’s ok,” Shuri assured him as Peter knocked his head against the table again. “I’ll…we’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to her - maybe we can work out some kind of deal with her to untie you.”

Peter felt tears prick his eyes but fought against them as a door towards the back of the lab swung open and Heather reappeared, a silver case one in hand and a phone in the other. Peter may still be relatively new to the whole hero gig, but he figured crying in front of the bad guys was pretty high on the list of things he wasn’t meant to do.

Shuri called out as Heather started to make her way towards Peter. “Hey! Kidnapper lady!”

Heather ignored her as she placed the phone on the workbench Peter was leaning against and dropped the case by his side. Peter heard Shuri start trying to negotiate but her words became white noise as the case was opened and he saw what was inside it. He instinctively threw himself away from the bench, trying to wriggle out of Heather’s range, but she just grabbed him and pulled him back with that unnatural strength.

Apparently Shuri had seen the case contents too because then she was yelling and cursing at Heather. “What did I say about being quiet?” Heather said over her shoulder, her ember-like fingers an inch from Peter’s face.

Shuri bit back on the next insult as her eyes raked over the case, taking in the number of needles and vials that were arranged in precise size-order. “What are you going to do him?”

“I’m just taking some samples.” To Peter, she said, “If you cooperate, it won’t even hurt that much. This doesn’t have to be difficult.”

Peter looked back at the array of needles. _Samples?_ _Did that mean they knew he was enhanced?_

Heather started readying the first needle, and the only thought left in Peter’s mind was that the tiny piece of metal could _not_ go into his veins. Whatever gave him his powers wasn’t exactly something he wanted an evil scientist lady to have. So he drew his knees up and kicked Heather hard in the chest, knocking her across the room. 

He heard Shuri calling his name as he scrambled towards the silver case, bringing up his feet and crashing the metal band straight into the needles and vials, smashing several. He raised his legs to break the rest when a weight crashed into him, knocking him to the ground and pinning his arms painfully underneath him. Peter registered the burning hand coming towards his face and tried to twist out of the way, but when Heather found a grip he felt nothing but hot skin on his cheeks. No burning. No glowing hands.

He was confused for all of two seconds before Heather clamped his nose shut.

Panic flared through Peter as he struggled, trying to buck Heather off, but she held firm. Peter forgot all reservations about not combining tears with bad guys as his lungs cried out desperately for air, white spots dancing on the edge of vision.

He’d seen Tony have a panic attack once when he thought Peter had gone home for the day. Peter was halfway out the building before he realised he’d forgotten his backpack, returning to the lab to find Tony bent over on the floor, unable to draw air into his lungs. It had been the only time he’d seen his mentor scared. Well, until today.

Now he understood why.

Just when Peter thought he was going to pass out, the hold on his nose vanished and he was pulling in dusty air, the panic not abating as he instinctively tried to breathe through his mouth and couldn’t.

Then there were hands helping him sit up, gently clearing his airways, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I meant it when I said this doesn’t have to be difficult,” Heather said, her tone almost motherly. “You want to be a hero, don’t you Peter? To be a part of something bigger than yourself?”

Peter looked past Heather to Shuri, who had tear tracks running down her face even as she offered Peter and a nod and a smile - the only assurance she could give. Heather ruffled Peter’s hair just like the way Tony had started to do on his better days, before standing up and moving around the lab, filling the space with the clanks of metal and drawers.

“She was so close,” she continued as she searched. “If Stark had just _listened_ instead of ditching her the moment he was done with her, do you know what kind of medical progressions we would have today? And then he got her killed. Her life’s work would have been lost if I hadn’t stepped in and saved it. And I’m nearly there,” she breathed, talking more to herself now. “Your DNA is the key, Peter. Don’t you see? I’ve seen the footage. You heal so fast. Your regenerative powers can be used to help so many people."

She was crouched back at his side now, a large strip of silver metal clasped in her glowing hands. “The famous _Spider-man._ ”

Peter tried to school his features, but he was too exhausted to hide the flash of shock and fear. He risked looking at Shuri, but she was staring at the piece of metal in Heather’s hands, which had begun to turn orange as it heated.

Heather gave Peter a smile. “So it is true. Ross wasn’t entirely sure. But Queen’s local hero turning up in a brand new and improved suit just as Tony Stark suddenly decides to take on a personal intern? Suspicious enough to set up some surveillance. And Stark was careful, yes - but not careful enough. Ross knows everything, Peter. Where you go to school. Who your friends are. Where you live with your aunt.”

Peter stopped trying to control the tears. This was it. This was the thing he had dreaded for months, the thing he would have done anything to prevent. “It’s ok,” Heather assured him as the strip of metal in her hands starting to bend in the heat. “He’s not going to go after them. They’ll never know you were Spider-man. You’ll just vanish.”

_May_. She had lost so much, and now she was going to lose him as well. “But you’re going to do so much good,” Heather continued. “More than you ever could have done in some costume. Extremis is going to save so many lives, Peter. Millions. _Tens_ of millions. Don’t you think that’s worth it? One life for so many? A little bit of pain to relieve so many others of suffering? That’s what it means to be a hero, right?”

“No.”

Peter glanced over at Shuri, who was glaring at Heather. “It’s not worth it,” Shuri continued, her voice strong despite the tears in her eyes. “You’re planning to kill a teenager. There’s _nothing_ you can say that would justify that. Ever. All you can do now is let us go and pray the _actual_ heroes who are coming for us take it easy on you.”

Peter barely had time to be grateful for Shuri’s words before he felt his legs being forced up behind him and then there was a white-hot pain searing through his legs and wrists. He let out a scream that even the thick gag couldn’t fully suppress as he tried to twist away from the burning metal that was pressing down on his skin. He could hear Shuri screaming as well as his nostrils were clogged with the stench of burning skin. Then suddenly the heat was gone, replaced by a shocking cold that flooded him from head to foot.

The pain on Peter’s flesh remained even after the heat from the metal was gone. He tried to curl into a foetal position and found he couldn’t. He tugged desperately on his wrists and ankles, now bundled together, but they didn’t give an inch.

Then there was something rough being rubbed against his skin, and he saw Heather moving over him with an old towel, drying him off as his brain finally caught up to what she’d done.

She had added a fourth restraint, this time around both wrists _and_ ankles, using her weird fire-like powers to secure the metal before cooling it off by soaking him in water. Peter strained against the band, and fought to restrain a sob as he found it held just as firm as the others. He didn’t think anything else could possibly be taken away, that this situation could possibly get worse, but it had. He couldn’t do anything as Heather used the towel to dry off his sodden curls, couldn’t even scoot back from her as the towel kicked up more dust as she moved onto his neck.

“It’s ok,” she reassured him, in that false motherly voice that sounded far too much like May for comfort. “Now we won’t have any more delays. I don’t want to draw this out. I’m going to take what I need for my research, and then it will be over, ok?”

The burns had settled into an ongoing ache that flared if he tried to move even an inch. Peter could feel Shuri’s eyes on him, but couldn’t meet them. He couldn’t protect her. He couldn’t protect _anyone_ like this.

_Tony,_ Peter thought desperately. _Tony’s coming._

Peter flinched as the phone on the workbench started to ring, letting out an aborted groan as the movement exacerbated the burns. Heather abandoned the towel to answer it. “Is it done?”

Then a voice Peter vaguely recalled from the news came through the other end, and his world imploded.

“It’s done. Stark’s down. My men will be along shortly to collect the body.”

_No. No no no no -_

Tony wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead. Peter had _just_ seen him. He was coming. He had _promised_ he would come. He was…he was…

_He’s not coming, Peter. You’re on your own._

The cold realisation soaked into Peter faster than the water had. Tony had come to help him, and Peter hadn’t done enough - hadn’t _been_ enough. And now Tony was gone.

Heather was still on the phone. “And the kid?”

“He’s yours to keep. Let me know when you have everything you need from him, and then we’ll talk disposal.”

Peter let his eyes close, resting his forehead against the ground. He vaguely registered Shuri’s voice saying his name, but shut her out. Even the burns along his skin faded to a dull throb. It was if he’d vanished behind a screen of grey noise.

He could vaguely feel a hand at his elbow; a sharp point of a needle probing at his vein. _Stop her,_ a tiny voice whispered to him.

_I can’t._

_You can’t let her take your DNA. You know healing won’t be all it’s used for. People are going to get hurt._

_There’s nothing I can do._

_There’s always something you can do._ The voice had started to sound suspiciously like Tony.

_Tony’s gone._

_And he wouldn’t want you to give up._

Something was trying to push through the grey noise; a dull, rattling sound. The elevator had started to move, as though someone in the workshop above had called it back to them.

***

_“It’ll be good press. We could use some of that right now.”_

_“You mean you could use some of that right now.”_

_“Watch your tone with me, Stark.”_

_Tony ran his fingers through his hair, more grateful than he wanted to admit for Rhodey’s comforting hand on his shoulder. “I think what Tony’s trying to say is that this doesn’t seem like an Avengers-level threat,” Rhodey cut in, playing the diplomat. “Surely there are more important matters than -”_

_“You’ll go where I send you. That’s what you agreed to.”_

_Tony’s hand dug itself into a fist. He had agreed to this. He knew that. It was supposed to be - it_ was _\- recompense for all the destruction the Avengers had caused since they had first assembled in 2010. He had been willing to face the music, to roll with the consequences._

_He just hadn’t expected that he’d have to do it alone._

_“I’ll go,” Rhodey offered._ Ok, not completely alone. _“It’s only escorting the President from back from Europe. Surely -”_

_“Stark will go because I said he will.”_

_Rhodey shot Tony a sympathetic look. “Fine,” Tony ground out. “It’s not like I'm part of a billion-dollar company or inventing green energy or anything. This seems like a perfect use of my time.”_

_“And yet you seem to have enough to tutor eager high school students.”_

_Both Tony and Rhodey froze as one, with_ _Rhodey recovering first. “Like you said, the Avengers needed some good press. Stark Industries beginning an intern program was one initiative out of many proposed -”_

_“If it’s good press, why do you keep him away from the cameras?”_

_Rhodey’s grip on Tony’s shoulder turned from one of comfort to warning, urging him not to blow up at Ross._

_“My intern isn’t Avengers business, and therefore none of yours.”_

_“Isn’t he? Mentoring seems very out of character for you, Stark. Unless there’s something special about this certain teenager?”_

_“He’s on scholarship to one of the most prestigious scientific high schools in the country.”_

_“And an enhanced.”_

_Tony let out a bark of laughter. “You need better spies if you’re guessing, Ross.”_

_“A pretty good guess, I would say, based on the latest set of Accords amendments you tried to sneak by me. Why else would you include a clause specifically for minors?”_

_“It’s called covering all your bases, Ross. Something I happen to be very good at. Thinking of every possible outcome and finding ways to prepare for them before they happen - not after. The fence, not the ambulance.”_

_“The what?”_

_“It’s a story my father - never mind. The point is the new Accords have to consider every possible occurrence, no matter how unlikely. Maximoff was underage when she first joined us - it’s not impossible that you will get enhanced younger than twenty-one on the streets.”_

_“Then they should share the same consequences as anyone else.”_

_“Save it for the hearing. Send me the details of the escort gig.”_ And stay the hell away from Peter, _he added in his head as he hung up the phone. It immediately started ringing again. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Ignore all calls from Ross for, let’s say, three hours.”_

_“I advise against that action, Boss.”_

_“I would have to agree with the computer on this one,” Rhodey said softly, even as Tony manually hit the ‘IGNORE’ button on Ross’s call and switched the phone off, but then his eyes narrowed as he saw the new file that popped up one of Tony’s screens. “Tones…what’s that?”_

_Tony looked up from where he was trying to rub what felt like ten years of tiredness out of his eyes. “Oh. Fri, maybe delete that one. Don’t need any more speculation out there on why I suddenly decided to take on an intern”_

_Rhodey fixed Tony with a look. “You’re recording Ross’s phone calls?”_

_“Like you’ve been saying. He’s nearly out of office, and he’s trying everything to stay in. I mean, making Iron Man escort the President just to show he can? He’s scrambling.”_

_“You think he’s going to try something,” Rhodey confirmed._

_“I think there is a tiny chance he might try something,” Tony corrected him. “And if he does, I want to have my bases covered. Just in case.”_

The elevator seemed to take forever to descend, and Tony had no idea what he was going find at the bottom.

He refused to imagine any scenario that didn’t include Peter breathing. The kid had to be ok. Tony had done what Ross had asked - as far as Ross knew, anyway. 

Even so, he felt naked without the suit that was now lying battered and broken in the logging workshop. Steve and Barnes had faked the fight well, with Tony controlling the suit from a distance, before hacking into the cameras to make them play the footage of the empty suit on a loop. He didn’t know how long they had before Ross figured out what they’d done, especially given the little bonus F.R.I.D.A.Y. had attached to the outgoing video of the fight. Tony figured it wasn’t long. He had to get Peter out of here - fast.

Tony didn’t even realise he was holding his breath (probably not the best idea, given how many times he had come close to a panic attack that day) until the doors clicked open and he saw that Peter was still alive.

The sweeping relief was over in an instant however as he took in the teenager’s bloodshot eyes gazing at Tony in disbelief from his position as a human shield in front of Heather, who had the remote for the bomb clutched in her hand. They were both kneeling on the floor with Peter at what seemed like an impossible angle. Only when Tony stepped fully into the lab did he see the extra band that had been added to Peter’s restraints, binding his wrists to his ankles.

It was enough to make him see red long enough to forget the plan he had worked out with Steve and Barnes, instinctively stepping forward to rip Peter out of his enemy’s grip.

“Tony!”

The African accent broke through the fog of rage enough for Tony to pause, turning to see another teenager in the room with them, restrained against a support pillar. Shuri’s eyes were going from Tony to Peter, begging Tony not to do something stupid that might get her friend hurt.

Tony swallowed hard, counted to five, then started to move towards Shuri, keeping his eyes on Heather. “I’m guessing this is the reason Wakanda’s been ignoring our phone calls.”

“Don’t move,” Heather ordered, pulling Peter closer to her. Tony raised his hands in surrender and slowed, but didn’t stop his trajectory around the room until he was firmly between Shuri and Heather, blocking the princess from Heather’s line of sight.

“I’m unarmed,” Tony said, keeping his hands in view. “The suit’s lying in pieces upstairs, ok? You hold all the cards here.” He risked a look back at Shuri. “Are you ok?”

The poor kid looked exhausted, but she nodded, her face set. “Worry about Peter. Not me.”

“I can worry about both of you. I’m good at multitasking.” He turned back to Heather, who was glaring at him, but Tony’s focus was on Peter. “Hey, kid. I promised I’d come, yeah? We’ll be home soon.”

There was a heart-stopping moment when he thought Peter wasn’t going to respond; that the teenager had been through one too many atrocities today and had finally shut down. Tony wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. Instead, a new resolve seemed to burn in Peter’s eyes, and he nodded.

“I wouldn’t trust a single promise Stark makes,” Heather cut in. “He’s broken plenty in the past.”

Tony finally turned his full attention to her. “I’m sorry about Maya.”

Heather’s responded by tightening her grip on Peter’s throat, a faint glow to her skin that made Peter squeeze his eyes shut in discomfort. The move didn’t seem to be deliberate; and Tony remembered how Extremis could operate on emotion alone - rage, fear, grief.

Funny how quickly those things could take you over entirely.

_Don’t piss her off_ , Tony reminded himself, trying not to panic at how close the woman was to burning his kid’s throat. _Keep her calm._

“She died a hero,” Tony continued, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know if you know that. She died trying to stop the Mandarin from controlling Extremis. From turning it into a weapon. Which is exactly what Ross will do if you -”

_“She died because of you!”_

Suddenly Heather’s skin was glowing amber, turning to molten embers as her eyes flashed fire. Tony raised his right hand with a yelp as Peter’s skin started to burn, the hidden repulser springing to life and aiming for Heather. The weapon surprised her enough to let go, although not before a large, hand-shaped scorch mark was burned across Peter’s throat.

“Don’t.” It was meant to be a warning, but his voice cracked in the middle, betraying him.

Heather glanced at Peter, eyes going wide as she realised what she’d done, but didn’t lower her hand. “Unarmed, huh?”

“I like to cover all my bases.”

“You didn’t cover them well enough.”

“Yeah, I never seem to. Kid…Pete. It’s going to be ok. I’m going to-”

“Stop lying!” Heather gripped Peter’s throat again, her hand now thankfully cool, but the threat imminent. “That’s all you ever do, Stark. You take what you want from people and then you ditch them. Did you even spare a thought for my sister after she died for you? After you ditched her at that crappy New Year’s party the moment you were done getting in her pants?”

Heather’s whole body was shaking, cracks appearing in her skin as if she were breaking, revealing lava-like substance within. “Did you know she had a relapse after that night? She’d spent years getting past her eating disorder. After all the hospitalisation and therapy and _fucking force-feeding,_ she was finally happy with herself. And it took one night with you for her to feel like she was worthless enough to stop eating again. All she had left was her research. And then you took that away from her too.”

Tony bit back on his retort that he had been taking away Extremis from Killian, _you know, a power-hungry psychopath_ , and instead said, “I didn’t know. And I’m sorry. Truly.” His mouth seemed to have dried out. Shit, this wasn’t his forte. He wasn’t _good_ at this stuff. “But if you need to take that out on someone, do it to me, ok?” Tony could see Peter trying to shake his head _no_ at him even as Heather’s grip tightened. “I’m the one you’re mad at, yeah? Fine. A lot of people are. Some of them are even justified. But if you need to hurt someone, hurt _me,_ ok?”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Heather’s voice was low, almost talking to herself. “I just want to finish Maya’s research. I want to show the world the good she was trying to do. I don’t want her to be some footnote in Tony Stark’s autobiography.”

“Well, that’s no problem, I’ll never find time to write one.” Heather’s eyes narrowed and Tony hurried on. “Look, I’ll build her a skyscraper with her name on it if you want.Every floor dedicated to the Extremis research. Just let Peter and Shuri go and we can talk.”

“I’m not falling for your empty promises, Stark. You’re finished. Just because Ross didn’t succeed in making Rogers kill you doesn’t mean you’re not going to die today. He has his men coming over here as we speak to finish the job.”

“They’re going to have to contend with two very spritely ninety-year-olds first.”

“They won’t win.”

“Rogers can win anything on stubbornness alone.” Tony took a deep breath. How much time had passed since Ross would have received the video? Surely enough for him to have leaked it online - Ross had never been the patient type. “I have something you need to see, so I’m going to reach for my phone. Ok?”

Heather tightened her hand on both Peter’s throat and the remote that would detonate the bomb. Two ways for her to kill his kid in a matter of seconds. “Stop. I’m not falling for any tricks.”

Tony put his hands back in the air. “Fine. Check _your_ phone. I'm sure it's hit the news by now."

Heather’s eyes narrowed, calculating.

“It’s not a trick,” Tony tried to assure her. “It’s something you’re going to want to see. I bet my life on it.”

“It’s not your life you’re betting.”

“I know,” Tony breathed. “And I wouldn’t bet Peter’s life on anything. Ever.” He thought he saw something spark in the teenager’s eyes at the words, but kept his full attention on Heather. “ _Check your phone_.”

When she still hesitated, Tony disconnected the makeshift repulser from his hand, and dropped it to the ground. “There. Now I’m actually unarmed, ok?”

“Kick it away from you. Towards me.”

Tony did so without even thinking about it, trying not to wince as Heather stood and crushed it under her foot. She had to let go of Peter to do so, and Tony found himself moving on instinct, only to grind to a terrified halt when Heather raised the remote at Peter again. “Ok, ok.” Tony raised both hands in surrender. “Look, I can’t do anything while you have that, ok? Can you at least let me hold him?”

Something like surprise crossed Heather’s face at the request. Peter started shaking his head violently at Tony, warning him not to get closer. “It’s going to be fine, kid. I’m not letting her detonate it, ok? That’s not going to happen.” Still, Peter shook his head, not stopping until Tony added, “Even if it did, which it _won’t_ \- the explosion would be very localised. It wouldn’t hurt me, alright?”

That finally made Peter still. Tony gave Heather one more cautious look as she picked up her phone, then crossed the lab in two strides and pulled Peter as best he could into his lap given the teenager’s awkward position. “Hey,” Tony breathed, checking the kid for any signs of injury. “Hold on just a bit longer, ok? We’re nearly there.” He could see the new restraint more clearly now. It was wrapped around Peter more crudely than the others, the exposed skin underneath it red and raw. Tony had to bite down on every murderous feeling that the sight rose within him. He couldn’t fight his way out of this one. He could only appease and apologise and persuade.

Heather was glued to her phone, her eyes wide. “What did you do?” she breathed.

“We exposed Ross,” Tony replied. He could feel Peter shaking under his arms. No wonder; the kid was soaking wet. Tony started rubbing the teenager’s chest in quick circles, trying to increase the circulation to his heart. “I’ve been recording our phone calls for weeks now, just in case. His last one was no different. When he released the little show Cap and I put on up there, he uploaded his own downfall at the same time, without even knowing it. The phone call recording was embedded in the video; like a parasite. He’s _finished,_ Heather. So let’s work this out, ok?”

Heather bit her lip like she was actually considering Tony’s offer, when her phone rang. “It’s him,” Heather breathed.

“Don’t answer it.” Tony had wrapped his arms around Peter as securely as he could, eyes darting to the remote in Heather’s hand. He just needed to make her put it down; to see reason.

Heather’s eyes were darting from Tony to the phone in her hand, as though deciding which was the stronger lifeline to grab onto. “You won’t let me go,” she said. “Not after everything I’ve done.”

“Grief can make you do things you wouldn’t dream of otherwise. Trust me - I know.” _Put down the remote. Just put down the remote…_

Heather’s phone was still ringing. “Where would I even go?”  


“You can come to Wakanda,” Shuri spoke up. “We could use you and your sister’s research. You could finish what she started there. And we’d make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands - ever.”

“Ross won’t make you a better offer than that,” Tony added. “He’ll use you, like he uses everyone else. Like Killian used Maya. And if that’s not enough, if you feel like you need more, you can do whatever you want to me, ok?” Tony had never begged for anything in his life, not even in Afghanistan, but he had never had as much as he had stake right now. “Just don’t hurt Peter. _Please,_ Heather.”

The loudest silence of Tony’s life followed. Peter’s shaking hadn’t abated so Tony started rubbing between the kid’s shoulder blades instead, trying to ease some of the pain Peter had to be feeling there. Heather was still looking at her phone, deciding whether or not to hear whatever deal Ross was about to offer her.

Heather’s shoulders slumped and for a second - one brief, glorious second - Tony had thought they had won. Then Heather turned brown eyes full of hate on him. “Your promises are empty, Stark,” she whispered, pushing the answer button on her phone, just as the elevator to the lab started up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it seems that they're not going to rescue each other and go home quite yet...
> 
> Thank you all who are still here, who are just tuning in, or will tune in the future. You know what? You guys are pretty cool. Good job being you, readers. You're amazing.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the reception for this has been insane. I'm so humbled. You guys are amazing x

Bucky stared at where Stark had just shot the tree. The trunk had knitted back together like molten lava before it hardened once more into bark. “I don’t see how that’s a plan.”

Stark was already moving back to the workshop, Ross’s deadline nearly upon them. “I know who she is. Heather. Or at least, I knew her sister.”

“Knew?” Steve repeated.

Stark grimaced as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, typing rapidly. “Long story.” Catching Steve’s frustrated look, he snapped, “We’re on a clock, Rogers. Did you forget?”

It was a mark of just how serious the situation was that Steve didn’t argue as Stark quickly outlined his plan of putting on a show for Ross by controlling the suit remotely, then looping all the cameras to make it look like Steve and Bucky had run off while the suit laid dormant on the workshop floor, Stark supposedly unconscious inside it.

The second F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirmed that the cameras had been looped and they were in the clear, Stark was focussed on getting the elevator doors open so he could get to Peter. “If Heather sees you coming -” Bucky started.

“I know what she wants," Stark interrupted. "Or at least I can make a damn good guess. And now Ross can’t give it to her, she’s going to have negotiate with me.”

“What does she want, Tony?" The undercurrent in Steve’s tone made Stark narrow his eyes at him.

“Quick question, Cap. If it was Barnes down there, would you spare a moment to consider consequences, or would you rush down there guns blazing to get him out?”

Bucky saw Steve shoot him an almost guilty look, but stepped in before Steve could reply. “Steve would never put a weapon in the wrong hands. Ever.”

Stark let out a disbelieving snort as the doors sprung open with the rumble of an ascending elevator. “She doesn’t want a weapon.”

“That’s not the point,” Steve said before Bucky could argue further. “If we’re going down there we deserve to know -”

“There’s no we.”

_ “Tony -” _

“Ross has thought this through, Rogers. You don’t think he has a backup team on the way here to make sure everyone followed their stage directions? You and the Manchurian Candidate need to run, now, or he’s going to drag you to off to a thoroughly reinforced Raft. I know. He made me help him design it. Wouldn't let Rhodey come from whatever war zone he sent him off to until I did. So _go.”_

As if on cue, the distant sound of helicopters sounded on the horizon. “I’m not just leaving you here,” Steve protested.

“That’s a nice sentiment. Really. Very touching. But we all know where your priorities are.” There was no bitterness in the last words; Stark stated them like facts. He flicked his eyes to Bucky and for a moment their eyes met, the gaze lingering. “You helped Peter,” Stark said. “And knowing the kid, he’s not going to want to see you carted off to the hellhole Ross so kindly made me design for you. So run off to wherever Romanoff has parked that jet and get out of here before it’s too late.”

A silent agreement passed between Steve and Bucky. “No,” Bucky stated. “We’re with you. ‘Til the end of the line.”

The helicopters were growing closer. Stark cast a calculating glance between each of the super-soldiers before he swore loudly, giving in. “Fine. But if you get arrested, it’s not on me. You don’t get to hold that over my head.”

“I wouldn’t have anyway,” Steve said softly.

Stark didn’t look like he believed him, but there was no time to argue. He glanced over at the nanotech suit, then at the workshop door. “I have to say, not having to face Ross’s response team when I come back up would be handy.”

“We can take them,” Steve assured him as Bucky nodded. “Just get to Peter. We’ll join you when we can.”

The elevator arrived, but Stark hesitated. He looked from the suit to Bucky, and made a decision. “What the hell. In for a penny and all that.”

Several minutes later, Bucky and Steve were surrounded by Ross’s unconscious agents. Steve had taken a nasty hit to the ribs and Bucky was bleeding from a cut above his left eyebrow, but they were otherwise ok, managing to take out the response team before they could do any serious damage.

Bucky’s new metal arm had helped with that.

Steve was on the phone, assuring Natasha to stay with the plane; that providing a fast getaway was more important than having her in the field. Bucky had already called the elevator back to to the workshop, and the second Steve was off the phone, they both stepped inside the narrow metal box and headed down. It was a tight fit, with both of them standing shoulder to shoulder, clutching guns they’d retrieved from the unconscious bodies.

Steve was fiddling with his gloves, not realising he was doing it. Bucky’s lips twitched remembering how his friend used to do the same thing before talking to any girl, back in the pre-serum days. And sometimes in the post-serum days as well. _Often_ in the post-serum days. Except now it wasn’t a girl that was occupying his friend’s thoughts. 

“He’ll be fine,” Bucky said in a low voice. “We’ll get him out.”

Steve shot his friend a grateful smile that only lasted until the elevator doors rattled opened and the two soldiers were greeted by a burst of searing flame.

Steve’s instincts were to raise a non-existent shield but Bucky was faster, grabbing Steve’s arm and throwing him behind him as he pulled them both out of the elevator, where they would have been trapped by the blaze. Realising a second later that bunching together meant that both of them could be hit at once, Bucky pushed Steve to one side, raising his metal arm to shield his face as he dived forward. 

The heat was intense but he was rewarded by slamming into something solid and knocking it to the floor. There was a thud and a yell and the fire ceased. Legs like battering rams kicked him in the stomach and he reeled backwards, turning the move into a backwards roll and springing back to his feet. He raised his gun, ready to fire - and froze.

In the time it had taken Bucky to roll to his feet and ready the gun, Heather had grabbed Stark by the throat, holding him in one hand as she clutched an all-too-familiar remote in the other.

“Don’t shoot,” Stark got out, even as Heather tightened her grip, making him choke, as Bucky got a chance to properly take in the room for the first time. “Extremis and bullets…bad mix.”

Bucky barely had time to register that Shuri was in one corner of the room, looking drained but unharmed. Steve had already snapped the handcuffs that had restrained her and was helping her to her feet, his eyes going from Heather to Stark and landing on the still form at Heather’s feet.

Bucky practically snarled when he saw the new addition to Peter’s restraints, only to have Heather raise the remote; a clear threat. “Put the guns down. Now.”

Bucky darted a look at Steve, hoping his friend had a plan, but Steve was locked on Heather. The hand around Stark’s throat boiled red-hot for a second, making the engineer gasp in pain. His arms stayed by his sides, not even attempting to fight back. _To protect Peter,_ Bucky guessed. Either Heather had said she would hurt him if Stark fought her, or Stark was trying to prove he’d be an easier hostage to keep than the bound teenager at her feet.

Stark’s eyes met Bucky’s, for the first time empty of any rage or hate or fear. Now they were just resolute, looking from Peter to Bucky. The message was clear. _Get him out of here._

Bucky calculated as Steve took a stand behind him, shielding Shuri, keeping them between Heather and the scorched elevator door. Peter was frozen on the ground, not moving for fear of either Heather setting off the bomb or, as Bucky suspected was more likely, fear of Heather hurting Tony.

Steve stepped forward. “Heather, is it? I’m Steve. That’s Bucky. We just want to talk.”

Even with the imminent threat of Heather’s glowing hand on his windpipe, Stark managed to huff out a laugh. “Yeah, we tried that. Not sure if you can tell, but it didn’t go so well.”

“You touch either of them you’re dead,” Bucky growled at her.

Steve picked up on the tone, falling into Bucky’s rhythm like they had dozens of times before. “No one has to die here,” Steve added, his voice low but firm. “We can work this out.”

“Ross’s men are down,” Bucky continued in the same threatening tone. “You have nowhere to go.”

“Which isn’t to say that we can’t make a deal,” Steve finished. Heather’s eyes were darting from one to the other. “You can walk away from this, Heather, and -”

“Stop!” The hand on Stark’s neck flared again, resulting in a sharp inhale from Steve. “I know what you’re doing. Barnes makes me scared and Rogers makes me feel safe. You can’t trick me. _Now put the guns down.”_

“Ok,” Steve conceded, slowly lowering his weapon to the floor and kicking it into a far corner of the room. “No tricks. Let’s talk.”

Bucky risked looking away from Heather to make eye contact with Peter on the floor. “I’m going to get you out of this,” he promised. “Both of you.”

He was rewarded with a look of gratitude a second before Stark choked out a string of curses. Heather had pulled him against her, wrapping her arm all the way around his neck. It made a kill-shot harder - but Bucky still had one. He readied the gun.

“Don’t,” Tony gasped, as Heather pushed down on his windpipe. “It won't kill her. Just...just get Peter out.”

“We’re getting you both out, Tony,” Steve replied. Bucky felt a hand on the small of his back and spared a moment to shoot what he hoped was a comforting look at Shuri. She returned it, tapping out a message in morse on his back.

_She called Ross. More coming._

Bucky gave the tiniest nod he could without Heather seeing. They had to get out of here - sooner rather than later.

“Put the gun down,” Heather repeated, aiming her words at Bucky now. _“_ Before I hurt him worse.”

Stark rolled in eyes in almost the exact way Peter had after dislocating his shoulder. “You need to read up on your Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes history if you think that’s anywhere close to a threat,” he managed, before Bucky could respond. “And Rogers is playing up the good guy act but let’s face it, he has other priorities. So how about this: give Rogers the kids, let him play the hero, and you can do whatever you want to me. They go - I stay.”

“Not an option,” Steve countered. 

Stark glowered at him. “That’s not your call to make, Rogers.”

“I’m _not_ leaving you.”

“You’ll do what I tell you to do,” Heather interrupted them, the arm around Tony’s neck flaring in warning, making the engineer hiss in pain. “Stark is mine. Parker I need. But if you leave now, you can take the princess with you. Or we can all stand around until Ross shows up to arrest you and lets me keep Stark and Parker anyway.”

_“No._ ” Shuri pushed past Steve so she was standing level with him, even as Steve held up an arm to shield her. “She wants to experiment on Peter. For Extremis. She doesn’t care if it kills him.”

Bucky focused on keeping his face neutral even as his stomach roiled. “You’re not touching him,” he growled.

Heather glanced from Bucky to Steve, and then the elevator, hugging Stark to her like a security blanket. For all of her bold words, her hands were shaking, the finger on the remote brushing the detonate button too often for comfort. They had to deescalate this - and fast. Steve seemed to be on the same wavelength because he raised his hands in the air, showing surrender. “We can work this out,” he repeated. “But you have to know that us leaving without either of them is off the table.”

Heather considered him for all of three seconds before she was pressing a glowing hand onto Stark’s shoulder. Stark bit down on his lip, trying not to cry out as Heather burnt through his t-shirt and started to scorch flesh. Steve started forward with a strangled yell, but Heather raised the remote in warning and Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm, holding him back. “Don’t tell me what is on and off the table,” Heather snarled at them. “You’re not calling the shots here.”

Stark lost the battle with staying quiet, letting out an agonised scream that made Peter’s head whip up, tears springing into the teenager’s eyes as he struggled uselessly on the floor. “Ok!” Steve shouted, backing away. “You’ve made your point. We’re listening, ok? Just stop hurting him.”

Heather waited another excruciating few seconds before she lifted her hand. Bucky felt another turn of his stomach as Stark’s angry, blistered skin was revealed, the sight almost but not quite as bad as the smell. Heather’s trembling hand hovered, threatening further damage. “Take the girl - get out.”

“Not without Peter.” Stark's voice was hoarse as he breathed through the pain. “You don’t need him. I _fixed_ Extremis. I can do it again, I can -”

“You found a way to reverse it, not fix it," Heather snapped back. "You never understood what Maya was trying to achieve.”

Tony grit his teeth, catching his breath. “Well, we can debate that in as much detail as you want, dear - when everyone else has left.”

“Tony, stop,” Steve cut in. “No one is staying behind.”

Heather’s response was to push her glowing hand straight back onto Tony’s already injured shoulder. This time, he didn’t even try to stop the howl that was wrenched from his throat, echoing around the underground lab. “Get _out._ ”

Bucky could see Steve wavering, caught between two impossible options. Peter was struggling, still fighting even after everything he’d been through, as though sheer force alone would rip through the restraints and knock Tony out of harm’s way. Bucky glanced at Steve. He knew the type.

“I’ll stay.”

The whole room turned their attention to Bucky. Heather lifted her hand and Tony gasped for air, clearly in agony as he slumped against Heather’s hold. “Buck -” Steve started, but Bucky cut him off, handing his gun to Shuri.

“You need Peter for his healing factor, right? Well, there are three people in this room that heal pretty damn fast.” 

“Bucky, don't,” Shuri said as she took the gun, even as she glanced at Peter, torn.

“Take what you need from me,” Bucky offered. “And let the others go.”

“Buck, _no_ ,” Steve insisted.

“We’re not all getting out. Not this time.” Bucky gave his best friend a sad smile. “Sometimes you don’t get to save everyone.” To Heather, he said, “Let the others leave, and I’ll be compliant. You still get your hostage and your research subject.”

Heather shifted her arm so it was back around Stark’s throat again, but she was considering. “Stark doesn’t get a pass. Not after what he did to Maya.”

Bucky took a deep breath. It wasn’t a no. That was progress. He took a step forward, arms raised in surrender. He could feel Steve’s gaze boring into the back of his head, could see Peter shaking his head frantically at him from the floor, but he wasn’t looking at either of them.

He was looking at Tony.

Stark met his eyes, then slid his gaze to Bucky’s improvised metal arm. The hint of a plan. “Fine,” Bucky agreed, even as he heard Steve’s intake of breath behind him. “Stark and I stay. Steve, Shuri and Peter leave.”

Heather was still uncertain, but didn’t make a move to start burning Tony again, which Bucky took as a small win. “No,” she decided. “Like Stark said - you and he have history. You won’t care about protecting Stark when the others are out of the way. You’ll attack me as soon as they’re gone.”

“Not if you have some very handy trigger words." Tony's breathing was labored as he spoke through what had to be an intense amount of pain, but even so he managed to raise an eyebrow in his trademark infuriating way. “You’re all caught up on the Winter Soldier deal, right Hansen? Push the right buttons and he’s your obedient little lapdog. Surely that’s easier than having to force-feed a trussed up teenager every few hours.”

“Tony…” Steve’s voice had lost its Captain America certainty. “What are you doing?”

“Saving my kid,” Tony snapped back. “So stay out the way, Rogers.”

Shuri kept a hold on the gun but transferred one hand back to Bucky’s back, tapping out a second message in morse. _He can’t. I removed everything._

“You don’t know the trigger words,” Heather said, but her voice wavered, unsure. “And if you did, you wouldn’t give them to me. Ever.”

“You said it yourself,” Stark replied. “You know Barnes’s history. You know what he did. Who he hurt. So ask yourself this; would I would let the Winter Soldier run free in the world without doing every single piece of research I could on how to shut him down if I needed to?”

Bucky heard Steve’s breath catch next to him as Stark ploughed on. “And as for giving them to you? If it’s a choice between Peter and the man who killed my parents - you don’t need to be a genius to see which choice I’m going to make.”

“No -” Steve protested but Bucky spoke first. “You let Steve leave with Peter and Shuri, and I’ll stay. As your Asset.” Bucky gripped Steve's shoulder, careful not to turn his back on Heather. “You have to go. I need you safe. I need Peter and Shuri safe.”

“What happened to 'til the end of the line?”

“I think we’ve found the end.”

Steve was still shaking his head. “We’ll think of something else. Some other way.”

“There isn’t one,” Bucky assured him. “You’re doing what you were always meant to do, Stevie. Saving people. Now, and after. Ross isn’t out of the picture - not yet. Someone is going to need to speak up for the other rogues, get them back to safety too. You know he’s going to go after them.”

Steve swallowed, torn. Bucky squeezed his shoulder; once, and then twice more in quick succession. An old Howling Commandos code. _Trust me._ “You’ve done so much for me, Stevie. Everything you could. But this time - choose them, alright?”

Bucky turned back to Heather. “I’m ready. Let them go.”

Heather gestured to Peter with the remote. “There’s a decent long-distance range on this. If they leave and you attack me, or if it turns out Stark doesn’t know the trigger words, I can still detonate it.”

“I know the words,” Tony said at the same time Bucky said, “I won’t attack.”

Heather hesitated a moment longer before stepping away from Peter, pulling Tony with her to the back of the lab. Bucky was at the teenager’s side in an instant, helping him onto his knees so he could breathe easier. Peter was shaking his head wildly at him, sending desperate looks towards Tony. “I’m sorry,” Bucky breathed. “But this is the best way.”

Peter continued to shake his head, letting out a sound of frustration as Steve knelt beside him as well. “Are you sure?” Steve whispered to Bucky, too low for Heather to hear.

“Stark has a plan. Just get them out of here.”  


Steve’s lips disappeared into a thin line but he turned his attention to Peter. “I’m going to have to carry you.” Peter shook his head at him, still trying to twist around to see Tony.

“I’m fine, kid,” Tony called to him. “ _Go_.” When Peter still refused, Tony turned to Steve instead and said, “Take him. Please, Steve.”

Bucky would rather not have watched as Steve gathered Peter up into his arms, holding him awkwardly as the teenager still tried to fight and protest as Steve backed him and Shuri into the elevator. He had been so careful to try and give Peter consent over what was happening to him, as much as he could have given the circumstances, and watching his friend force the kid away from Stark against his will made him want to rip Hansen in two.

The second Steve and the two teenagers were in the elevator, Bucky slammed his hand on the button to send them upwards, not daring to get a last glimpse of Steve’s face as the doors closed behind him, leaving him and Stark alone with Heather.

Bucky’s heart was pounding, and while he was fairly sure Stark had a plan, he couldn’t help but clench his hand into a fist to keep it from shaking.

_They’re safe,_ he reminded himself. _Steve, Peter, Shuri - they’re safe._ No matter what happened now, that was all that mattered.

Heather lifted the remote so it was in Tony’s line of sight. _Ok - not completely safe._

“You even think about using that,” Tony shot at her. “And you’re not going to have anything to stop Terminator over there ripping off your head. I don’t think even Extremis could heal that. Threatening me won’t stop him.”

“That won’t be a problem in a couple of minutes. Tell me the trigger words. Now.”

“I can’t.” Bucky started forward as Heather’s hand flared on Tony’s throat again, but the engineer quickly added, “He’s under the control of whoever says them. So unless you want a Winter Soldier at _my_ command, you’re going to need to let me write them down. How’s your Russian?”

Heather hesitated, then pushed Tony away from her, towards one of the workbenches that had paper and pen at the end ready. Not looking at Bucky, Tony started writing a list.

Bucky summed up the situation, calculating if he had an opening now that Tony was no longer in the way. His eyes went to the remote clutched tightly in Heather’s hand. Shuri would almost certainly know how to free Peter without detonating the bomb, but Bucky had no idea how long it would take her without proper tools - if it could even be done outside of Wakanda.

It wasn’t worth the risk. He was just going to have to trust Tony, who straightened up from the workbench, the list completed.

Slowly, Heather reached for the slip of paper. Bucky was so tense that he was shaking, even as he recalled Shuri’s comforting message. They had tested this - multiple times. Bucky had been fine. And Stark…Bucky might not exactly have the best track record with Tony, but surely the man wouldn’t do _this_.

_For Peter he might,_ a nagging voice said in the back of his mind. _You’d do it for Steve, wouldn’t you? Would you?_ He tried to meet Tony’s eyes, but they were fixed somewhere to Bucky’s left, betraying nothing.

The first word of Russian sent a jolt a down Bucky’s spine. “Wait -” He stepped forward, to do what he wasn’t sure, but the second word halted him dead in his tracks. “Stop!”

But she didn’t stop. The Russian words kept coming until Bucky was on his knees, panting hard. He hung in a kind of suspended limbo - waiting for the final word.

_They’re safe,_ Bucky reminded himself. _That’s all that matters. That’s all that-_

A single Russian word, and the fight went out of Bucky’s shoulders. He looked up at Heather with blank eyes.

“Ready to comply.”

***

There had been a time when Tony Stark was used to burns. They had been a weekly occurrence in his workshops, from soldering to electrocution to the occasional spilled mug of scalding hot coffee (ok, more than occasional). He’d run them under a cold tap (sometimes) and move on with his day, ignoring Pepper and Rhodey’s scolding when they happened to spot a particularly nasty one he hadn’t bothered to take care of.

Then Extremis and the whole Mandarin escapade had happened. After nearly being cooked alive in his own suit, Tony had been a lot more careful around anything that could burn him, inside the lab or out. It still happened - it was a hazard of the job - but he had conceded that it was worth the extra few minutes to adorn some protective gear and apply ice packs when needed. And over time, he had stopped being so used to burns.

The second Heather’s molten fingers flared against his skin, Tony would have taken an untreated soldering burn every day of his life to make her stop. The burns she had left on his shoulder and throat were excruciating, as hard as he was trying to not let it show, although that resolve was crumbling now that he was no longer putting on a brave show for Peter. He clamped down on the pain as Heather’s awkward Russian pronunciation filled the lab.

Seeing the panic on Barnes’s face at the first word hit Tony harder than he had expected. It was almost as bad as when he had been waiting for the elevator to descend to the lab after failing to negotiate with Heather, knowing that Steve - the stubborn bastard - was most likely inside, and not being able to do anything to prevent Heather’s scorching fire breath as the doors opened for fear of getting Peter killed. And that had only been slightly less bearable than how betrayed Peter had looked as Steve carried him away to safety.

Tony couldn’t worry about that now. He’d make it up to the kid later - once they were all out of this mess. _If_ they all got out of this mess. And if he didn't...at least Peter was still breathing.

Barnes was on his knees with that awful blank look Tony remembered from the UN; the one showed only the weapon and none of the man underneath. “Ready to comply.”

“There,” Tony said, gritting his teeth as another wave of pain resonated through his shoulder. “One Winter Soldier, at your service. Now give me the remote.”

Heather glanced from Barnes to Tony. “Not yet.”

Tony bit back on his angry retort, forcing himself towards reason instead. “You don’t need Peter anymore. You can take whatever you need from Barnes. He won’t fight back now.”

Heather was still calculating. “I need to know he’s not faking. Barnes. Stand up.”

Barnes didn’t move. “He won’t respond to that name,” Tony said quietly. “Not anymore.”

“Soldier,” Heather tried again, and this time Barnes raised his head. “Stand.”

Barnes lurched to his feet, eyes still blank. The elevator had long since gone quiet, and all Tony could do now was pray that Peter and the others were halfway to Romanoff’s jet.

“Soldier,” Heather commanded. “I need to know if Barnes is really gone.” She looked straight at Tony as she said the next part. “Kill Stark. Make it painful.”

Tony had a half-second to move out of the way and it wasn’t enough. Barnes was on him in an instant, metal hand going for his burned shoulder. Tony yelled in pain as he tried to push Barnes off him with a kick behind the knee, but Barnes saw it coming and dodged before throwing Tony halfway across the room.

Shoving down every Siberia flashback that was competing for attention in his brain, Tony shakily pushed himself to his knees as a metal hand clamped around his scorched throat.

“Bring him here,” Heather ordered. “I want to see it happen. You don’t get to trick me, Stark. You don’t get to escape this time.”

Tony scrabbled at the hand as Barnes hauled him over to Heather’s feet. The grip didn’t lessen, but Tony managed to choke out, “I’m sorry…for Maya.”

“Begging won’t save you.”

“Not…begging. Trying to…apologise…goddamnit.”

He was seeing dots in his vision now, his struggles growing weaker. Heather leaned in closer as any space Tony had in his airways was cut off completely. “It’s too late,” she whispered, more to herself than Tony. “She’s gone.”

Tony let himself go limp, collapsing into Barnes’s grasp, and Heather gave a little gasp, as her hold on the remote loosened a fraction.

It was the fraction they needed. The second the window of opportunity was open, Barnes was moving, snatching the remote away from Heather as Tony raised his hands, summoning the nanites that were currently forming Barnes’s metal arm. They swarmed back into suit form, but Tony didn’t draw it to himself.

Instead, he threw out his hands straight at Heather. The nanites encased her, as the Mark 41 had encased Aldrich Killian in what felt like another lifetime. Heather let loose a roar of rage that became muffled by the Iron Man helmet as it completed the nanite prison. Tony felt an arm around his waist and pushed away the stab of panic when he realised that it was Barnes, tugging him to the elevator.

The suit wasn’t going to hold Heather for long. Tony could already see it heating up from inside, the suit having taken too much damage from its bout with Steve and Barnes, and it was melting away faster than it could repair itself.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Tony glanced at Barnes before he said the next part. “Blow the suit.”

“You are still in range, Boss.”

Barnes practically threw Tony into the elevator, slamming the up button. He met Tony’s gaze - and nodded. “Wait until the last possible second," Tony confirmed. "But if she’s going to get free, blow it up. Take her out.” He gestured to Barnes. “Give me the remote.”

It took all of five seconds for Tony to disable it, feeling his heart crack with relief when it was done. He slumped against the elevator wall, holding the broken pieces. It was such a small thing to have threatened to take away so much.

“Boss?” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice echoed from the phone tucked in Tony’s pocket. “Detonation in ten seconds. The suit will be too compromised if I wait any longer.”

The AI's announcement was followed by a beat of dead silence. “Sorry,” Tony muttered. Barnes looked down at him in surprise and something else Tony was exhausted to decipher. “I didn’t…I had hoped we would get clear.”

“The others got away,” was all Barnes said in response. “They’re safe.”

Tony nodded, the pain his shoulder flaring again. He guessed he wouldn’t have to worry about that much longer. “And sorry,” he said again. “For…the other stuff.”

“You don’t have to -” Barnes tried, but Tony waved him off. He didn’t have time to say everything that was going through his head, about pain and the past and not dwelling on old regrets. They didn’t seem so important now.

He hoped Peter forgave him - for not being there longer, for not being enough. He wished he could have said goodbye - to him, to Rhodey, to Pepper. He wished he had used a certain flip phone sooner. He wished for a lot of things. 

Instead, he just met Bucky’s eye and said, “Thank you for protecting him.”

Then the elevator was sliding to a halt and the doors were sliding open just as a rumbling heat flared up from below, and the last thing Tony felt before it swallowed him was a body being thrown into his, shielding him from the blast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, a cliffhanger. Let's be real - was it really a surprise by now?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My usual thanks and appreciation for you all, amazing readers!

Tony knew he was dead. There was no other way that he could be surrounded by darkness this deep. He couldn’t move, the darkness weighing down on him, _inside_ him, engulfing him completely. 

Then the pain started and, goddamnit, he could never catch a break, could he? He had at least always thought death would be peaceful and...well, _not this._

He moaned, the sound foreign in his ears, as heat rippled across his whole body, intermingled with aches and stabs and _oh god am I in hell?_

That thought should have filled him with fear, but instead came a kind of detached annoyance. _Come on. I know I fucked up a lot of stuff, but I was_ trying _to be better. Stopped some bad guys, saved a bunch of people, flew a nuke through a wormhole…Doesn’t any of that count for_ something?

He shivered, sending a fresh sensation of burning over his body. _You didn’t do enough,_ a small voice whispered in his ear. _Why didn’t you do more?_  


The fear did set in then, as did a second violent shiver, which rocked his whole body. Wait. He could feel his body. And light was beginning to penetrate the unending darkness.

Tony experimentally wiggled his left fingers as he blinked, the world coming back into blurry focus. He couldn’t move much more than that. Images of Rhodey came to him, cradled unmoving in Tony’s arms, and Tony felt a stab of panic before registering the warm weight that was pinning him down. He could _feel_ his legs at least - even if he couldn’t move them. There was a ringing in his ears that made him wince as he felt something soft brush his cheek and realised the weight pinning him down was Barnes.

Tony’s initial reaction was panic, trying to scrabble away from the other man only to find that he was well and truly trapped under Barnes’s weight, the solider’s dark hair brushing Tony’s face. Tony closed his eyes, wincing as the movement moved grit under his eyelids, and tried to breathe despite the weight on his chest.

It was coming back to him now. The explosion. The heat rushing up to meet them. Barnes throwing himself across the elevator, wrapping around Tony as the fire hit.

“Barnes?” Tony’s voice might as well have been made of gravel. He couldn’t see Barnes’s face, the soldier’s forehead buried against his (thankfully not injured) shoulder. He could feel wet dripping onto him though, hot and warm, from the back of Barnes’s head. “ _Bucky.”_

No response. Tony swallowed the horror of being trapped underneath a dead body, just as he felt Barnes’s breath give a little hitch. If he focussed, he could feel the soldier’s chest move against his, his faint breath on his cheek, the slight tremor in his fingers.

Tony tried to twist around, but he couldn’t see the rest of the workshop from this position. All he got was a sense of dust and rubble, so he turned his attention back to the unconscious Barnes. Tony was sure Steve would come running back for Barnes the second Shuri and Peter were safe with Natasha on the jet, but even though Barnes was breathing now, it didn’t mean he still would be by the time Steve got back to them, super-soldier or not.

Awareness was flooding through Tony now, which meant that he was also starting to feel every inch of pain from the various burns, cuts, and bruises covering him from head to toe. _Put the pain in a box,_ a voice that sounded awfully like Natasha’s instructed him. _You still have to carry it with you, but don’t let it weigh you down._

“Ok, Red,” Tony breathed. “In a box. Here we go.”

He pictured all the pain being packed into a small box in the back of his mind then, when that wasn’t strong enough, swapped out the image for a titanium-alloy safe. He made the combination Peter’s birthday and locked the pain away inside of it. It by no means reduced any of the agony soaking through his body but, with it compartmentalised, he could at least focus on how he could stop Barnes from dying. Another part of him shouted that he didn’t care, that the world would be safer if Barnes never got up again. Tony locked those thoughts up in a safe as well, then visualised dropping it in the ocean. Barnes had just saved his life - he could at least repay the favor. 

He started by taking another stock of his body, now that he was more aware of it. At least his left hand was free and, with some shimmying and wincing as the movement ground skin against concrete, he worked on getting his whole arm unpinned. Unfortunately, that was the same arm connected to his burned shoulder, but he grit his teeth and freed it anyway. From here, he as able to place his free hand on Barnes’s waist, and with a bit of an effort, could push his weight off him.

Tony hesitated, considering the pros and cons. He was pretty sure moving someone with a head wound was a serious no-no in the first aid rule book. On the other hand, he couldn’t do anything for Barnes from his current position, and waiting for Steve might mean that Barnes died on top of him which Tony was definitely _not_ ok with.

Gritting his teeth, Tony braced himself against Barnes and slowly started to maneuverer the super-soldier off of him. He didn’t know Hydra’s bastardised serum as well as he had come to know Steve’s, but he was hoping it was similar enough to repair any further damage the movement caused to Barnes’s head wound.

Barnes slid to the floor next to him and Tony pulled in his first full breath in what felt like days, even though it had only been minutes. He allowed himself three deep breaths before he forced himself onto his side, rolling onto his elbows to get a better look at Barnes, who was now lying on his back, eyes closed, his face a sickening pale shade underneath the blood that had splashed over his nose and lips.

Tony’s hands hovered over him. He didn’t even know where to start. The soldier was covered in burns and lacerations, not to mention any potential internal injuries that Tony couldn’t see. A small part of Tony recognised that Barnes had taken the brunt of the blast and that, if he hadn’t, there was no way Tony would have survived half of the injuries Barnes had taken for him. 

A small pool of blood was seeping out from Barnes’s head, so Tony decided to start there. He stripped off his t-shirt, balling it up under Barnes’s head, before removing his belt as well and using it to tie the fabric in place. He darted his eyes around the workshop, noticing as he did so the unconscious members of Ross’s response team. Some of them were more than unconscious after the blast, but Tony shut them out. He couldn’t do anything for them now and, even if he could, he had to prioritise.

“Barnes?” Tony whispered, then louder. “Barnes?” It may have just been his imagination, but he could have sworn Barnes’s eyelids fluttered for a second. “Hang on, ok? I’ll…I’ll be back.”

When he got no response, Tony stood and started investigating the unconscious bodies, relieving one of his gun. Tony supposed it was too much to hope that one of them would have first aid supplies on them, and sure enough he found none. He settled for tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans, registering vaguely that his phone was still pressed against his thigh through his jeans pocket. He was about to keep exploring what remained of the workshop, for what he wasn’t entirely sure, when he heard a rustle in the pile of wreckage closest to where the elevator had once stood.

Tony pulled the gun, aiming it towards the elevator, which was now just a hole in what remained of the workshop wall. The rubble began to shift, as though someone was clawing their way up from underneath it.

_Please be one of Ross’s. Don’t be…please don’t be…_

A molten hand pushed through the wreckage, sending wood and metal flying. Tony cursed as he raced back to Barnes’s side, giving the soldier a none too gentle tap on his cheek. “Barnes? Time to get up. We need to move.”

Barnes’s eyes fluttered open but his gaze was glassy and unfocused. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” he croaked. “32557038.”

“Ok, yep, good job, now we gotta _move_.”

The hand was followed by a glowing arm, reminding Tony horribly of a zombie rising from a grave as he hooked his arms under Barnes’s armpits and started to pull. Barnes responded with a soft whine of pain, his arm clawing at Tony’s hands to make him let go.

“I’m trying to save your ass, Barnes - _cooperate._ I…I know it hurts, but that’s better than being dead, right?”

Barnes was still staring vacantly at the ceiling. Tony tugged at him again, but Barnes was a dead weight, digging his feet into the ground in resistance. Tony shot a frantic look to where Heather was now half-emerged, her glowing body reforming as she twisted herself free, her other arm and both legs starting to regrow from her molten torso as a voice that no longer sounded anything close to human screeched across the room. _“Stark…”_

Ok, _that_ was going to haunt his nightmares. Tony gave Barnes another hopeless tug, but the soldier continued to press his heels against the floor. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” he repeated, eyes still fixed on nothing. “32557038.”

The thing that had once been Heather Hansen was approaching now, still slow as limbs flared back into being. Barnes kept muttering his rank and number as though it was an anchor.

This time, the voice in Tony’s head sounded like Clint. _If you get captured, keep repeating your name and your identity.Don’t let them take that away from you. As long as that’s yours, they can’t break you._

“Sergeant!” Tony barked, and Barnes stopped resisting, latching onto the authority in Tony’s voice. “Move, now! That’s an order!”

Something like clarity sparked in Barnes’s eyes and this time, when Tony pulled at his arms, Barnes moved with him.

Their progress was still too slow. The Extremis Heather was now crawling her way towards them, thighs reformed and starting to regenerate feet to match. The pain was threatening to burst out of the safe Tony had stored it in, and he couldn’t do much more than haul Barnes behind an overturned workbench. He had to push one of Ross’s very dead men out of the way to make room, stomach lurching when he saw the chunk of debris that had skewered the man’s leg.It must have sliced through the artery for the amount of blood soaking the floor. _Focus now, Tones,_ Rhodey’s voice prompted him. _And process later. The living are more important than the dead. Save who you can._

Tony propped Barnes up against the workbench, arranging the makeshift bandaging around Barnes’s head and cursing when he found the t-shirt was already damp with blood. Head wounds always bled a lot though, right? And Barnes’s almost had Rogers’s level of healing, so -

_“STARK.”_

Heather’s broken voice roared through the destroyed workshop like a chainsaw, making Barnes stir. “Need to run,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re quite up to that.” Tony could hear the clattering of debris as the Extremis Heather got closer. “And I’m not really in any shape to carry you.”

Barnes weakly prodded Tony’s uninjured shoulder. _“Run,”_ he insisted.

“Would you _stop_ trying to save my life?” Barnes shot him an incredulous look that looked so out of place that Tony fought a wild impulse to laugh. He pulled the gun from his jeans and readied it, even though he knew it wouldn’t exactly be much help. It might buy him some time though, time for Steve to get here and - 

_Waiting for Captain America to come and save you, are you?_

Tony grit his teeth. _Shut up, Dad._

“Stay here,” he told Barnes as he readied the gun. “Don’t do anything stupid.” _Like I’m about to do._ A shaking hand gripped one of the loops of his jeans, holding him back. 

“Stark…no.”

“Stark _yes_.” Tony tried to bat Barnes’s hand away, but Barnes clung on stubbornly.

“ _STARK_ ,” that awful voice rang out again. “ _You can’t hide from me!_ ”

“She’s right.” He prepped himself to run, hissing at the fresh rush of pain. “I’m going to draw her fire. If you can run, run. If not - at least try to stay hidden. Steve will come back for you - you know he will.”

When Barnes didn’t let go of his jeans, Tony reached down and snapped the belt loop, dodging before Barnes could get another hold on him. He was met immediately with a rush of flame that had him cursing and diving out of the way, scrambling between stacks of rubble. _“COME OUT AND FACE ME, STARK.”_

_Yeah, no thanks._ Tony risked another dash, ducking out from behind the pile of debris and diving behind another toppled workbench, bringing himself up short just in time to prevent crashing into the silver jaws of the giant buzzsaw Heather had tried to use on Peter. Tony felt a new resolve as anger overtook pain, throwing out the gun and firing wildly in Heather’s direction. It wouldn’t do much damage even if by some miracle it managed to hit, but that wasn’t Tony’s objective. If he could draw this out, maybe Steve could get Barnes out while Tony distracted her.

He figured he owed him - both of them - at least that much.

The workshop was eerily quiet. Tony held his breath as he peaked above the buzzsaw, looking for Heather. He didn’t see her anywhere, which meant - 

Tony whirled around, just dodging the burning fist in time. He threw himself sideways as Heather’s molten arm smacked away the workbench, sending the buzzsaw flying across the room. Tony scrambled back from her, raising the gun and emptying the chamber into the form in front of him that was more creature than woman. The bullets did nothing, so he tossed the gun in order to have both hands free to scramble backwards.

It wasn’t going to do him any good though. When Heather’s mouth opened next, he could see the flames in the back of her throat. Shit - she was going to burn him alive.

Tony scrambled sideways as the jet of flame roared to life, scorching the ground where he’d been a second before. _“JUST DIE!_ ”

For a brief moment, Tony agreed with her. _Just get it over with. Why prolong the inevitable?_

_Don’t give up, Tony. We fight until the fight is won._

Tony tried to scrabble away, only to let out a raw scream as a burning hand closed around his ankle, pulling him back as the fingers quickly ate through his jeans and met skin. There was a figure made of fire above him, eyes blazing amber and scarlet as the scorching hand reached for his throat.

_Don’t give up. Keep fighting._

_I’m not going to win. Not this time. Sorry, Cap._

His lungs were burning - his whole body was burning. The safe had long since cracked open, the pain spilling out, and he couldn’t breathe for how much it hurt and - 

And then the pressure on his throat was gone.

A horrible, high-pitched shriek blasted his eardrums as he dared to open his eyes and saw the glint of silver metal jammed straight through Heather’s torso. Her flaming eyes looked down at it, almost comically dumbfounded, before it was ripped out again and used to slam her away from Tony. Tony just caught a glint of blonde hair before he heard Steve’s voice calling to him, telling him to get as far away as possible.

Tony didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled backwards as Steve raised a large sheet of silver metal, already glowing with heat, and crashed it into Heather’s chest. _The buzzsaw_ , Tony realised, as Steve brought it down on Extremis Heather’s chest, again and again, until he changed tactics and slammed the glowing edges down on her throat.

There wasn’t even any blood. Just an explosion of glowing embers that faded away to nothing.

Then there were gentle but firm hands on Tony’s, pulling him to his feet and wrapping around his waist, tugging him to the exit. Tony flinched when he felt wetness seeping down his skin, only realise it wasn’t coming from him. “Steve…your hands…”

“They’ll heal.”

Tony leaned on Steve’s shoulder as the super-soldier led him out of what was left of the workshop. Barnes was propped against the wall outside, now using his hand to press Tony’s blood-soaked t-shirt to his head. “Peter?” Tony croaked.

“Safe,” Steve replied, shifting his hold to grip him more securely as Tony slumped against him, pain and exhaustion starting to take over. “We’re going to him now - just a little longer, and you’ll be with him. Ok?”

Tony nodded, leaning his head into Steve’s shoulder. A small part of him rebelled against the action, telling him to get far away, _now_ , but he pushed it way and said instead, “Thanks for coming back.”

Steve’s voice was soft when he responded. “Of course I came back.”

_You didn’t last time,_ the small voice insisted, but Tony shushed it. That conversation still had to be had, those feelings rectified, but now wasn’t the time. “I need…” Tony swallowed, trying to make his burnt throat work. “Peter. Please.”

“He’s in the jet with Nat and Shuri. Come on. I’ll take you to him.”

“He’s safe?”

“Yes. He’s safe.”

***

“Sergeant! Move, now! That’s an order!”

The authoritative voice was the first clear thing in Bucky’s mind since the elevator. His military training snapped him into gear as he followed the voice,only for its owner to declare it was leaving him, to go into the line of fire (literally), without any protection.

_Civilian,_ his wrecked mind provided. _Protect._

But then Tony was gone, and instead there was a pair of familiar blue eyes on his, telling him to move towards the exit, that he would be right there and _that was Captain's orders, Sergeant._ _Move._

By the time Steve had caught up to him, dragging Tony, who looked liked he’d been through an industrial oven, Bucky’s mind had cleared enough to gather what was going on. Every part of him hurt, but his Hydra conditioning told him to ignore that and focus on the mission at hand. Which was getting Steve and Tony back to the jet, and then getting them all the hell out of this forest.

Tony wasn’t looking good. Any part of him that wasn’t covered in burns was scraped or bruised, and if that didn’t show how badly he was hurt, the way he was clinging to Steve like a lifeline did.

“Yes. He’s safe.”

Tony nodded, clearly wrecked, but the words got him to straighten up even as Steve kept a firm hold on him, pulling him against his side as he offered Bucky his other hand. Bucky stared at the jagged cuts there, the blood dripping onto the ground. “Jesus, Steve.”

“I improvised a shield.”

Bucky refused Steve’s hacked up hand, using the side of the workshop to push himself to his feet. “Get Stark to the jet. I’m right behind you.”

“Negative. Shuri said Heather called Ross - that there are more of his men incoming. We have to get out of here, _now_.”

Bucky managed to get to his feet, even as the world titled dangerously. He closed his eyes, leaning into the wall. “I’m fine. You can’t support both of us.”

“The hell I can’t.”

Then there was a firm hand gripping Bucky’s arm and Steve was draping him over his shoulders. Bucky started to protest but Steve’s secure grip on him made it clear he wasn’t letting go.

It was slow going, with Steve supporting Bucky and half-carrying Tony, but eventually the shining exterior of the jet poked through the trees. Bucky shrugged Steve off, the serum already beginning to do at least enough for him to walk on his own. The opposite seemed to be true for Tony, because the engineer didn’t so much as protest when Steve used both of his arms to guide him into the jet, Bucky following a few steps behind. He felt arms encircle him too then, smaller and softer than Steve’s, and looked down to see Natasha smiling up at him. “Hi, soldier.”

“Hey, Nat.”

He let her help him up the gangway, looking immediately around for Shuri and Peter. Tony was already crouched beside them, Peter’s head in his lap. Bucky felt a new surge of adrenaline when he saw the silver bands were still in place, even as Shuri sat amongst a pile of makeshift tools.

Peter glanced up as he and Natasha entered the plane, pained eyes flooding with relief as Bucky stumbled over and kneeled beside him. “Good to see you too, kid.”

He saw Tony shoot him an odd look then, but he was too tired to try and decipher it. “I can’t unlock them,” Shuri said before he or Tony could ask. “I think Heather literally welded them into place. There’s no mechanism to hack; no lock to unpick. They’re almost definitely vibranium though - I’ll have everything I need to deal with them in my lab.”

Peter buried his head against Tony’s chest as Tony ran his scraped up hands through Peter’s hair. The kid had to be in so much pain by now, due to the awkward angle his limbs had been forced into. “I’m sorry, Peter,” Shuri whispered. “If I could do anything sooner, I would.”

Peter nodded without looking at her, but the meaning was clear. _It’s not your fault._

Natasha had knelt by Tony’s side, having located the plane’s first aid kit, and was about to get to work when Steve said, “Get us in the air, Nat. Ross has more incoming.”

Either Shuri had filled Natasha in, or the former agent knew that questions could wait, because she only paused to briefly cup Tony’s cheek with a sad smile and an “I missed you”, before she was in the pilot’s chair, retracting the gangway and preparing to take them into the sky.

Shuri took Natasha’s place by Tony, looking relieved to have something helpful to do as she began to clean his various cuts and burns. Steve leaned in to take a closer look at Bucky’s head wound but Bucky dodged him. “Steve, your hands.”

“Let me do your head first.”

“You can’t do it with your hands like that. Let me bandage them up.”

They glared at each other for a moment before Steve gave in, realising that putting his still bleeding hands near an open wound probably wasn’t the best idea. The cuts were deep where Steve had gripped the buzzsaw, but there wasn’t much more Bucky could do than wrap them up to slow the bleeding before they swapped places so Steve could tend to Bucky.

Bucky watched Peter as Steve worked, his hand clenching. “There has to be _something_ we can do. We can’t just leave him like that.”

“It’s vibranium,” Shuri repeated. “I’ve seen the YouTube videos - Spider-man catching trains with his bare hands and that. They were meant to keep someone that strong contained.” She didn’t add the word _permanently._ She didn’t need to.

“I tried as well,” Bucky added softly. “Maybe if I had the arm…”

A muffled noise drew all their attention back to Peter. His eyes were dancing rapidly between them all. Wait - not all. Just Bucky, and then Steve, and then downwards. Then he started again. Bucky. Steve. Down. Bucky. Steve - 

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat, cottoning on. “Together,” he breathed. Peter nodded vigorously, repeating the eye movements. Bucky. Steve. Down - at himself. “We need to work together. Stark - hold him still.”

Tony didn’t even bother to argue, instead pulling Peter so the teenager’s stomach was against his chest. Steve was already standing, gripping Peter’s wrists just above the burn marks to allow Bucky to get a hold of the metal band tying Peter’s wrists and ankles together. When he had a firm grip he nodded and Steve moved his hands onto the band as well. “Peter?” Steve said. “On the count of three, I need you to try and force your wrists and ankles apart. I know you must be exhausted, but if you give it everything you have, we might be able to do this. Ok?”

Peter made a faint noise of consent. “Tony,” Steve continued. “Hold him still.”

Bucky braced himself, trying to find the best purchase. After a moment, Tony rearranged himself so his feet were flat along the floor, facing Bucky. Bucky frowned for a moment, wondering if Tony was really offering what he thought he was. “Do it Barnes - every bit counts.”

So Bucky placed the soles of his shoes against Tony’s, knees bent. “Three,” Steve began. “Two…one… _pull.”_

Bucky saw Tony wince as he pressed his feet into his to straighten his legs, the pressure from Tony pushing back giving him extra leverage as he and Steve pulled with all their might on the metal band. He could see Peter shaking from the effort he was putting in as well; despite being exhausted and worn down to the bone, the kid was still fighting.

Five seconds passed, and then ten. And then twenty. Bucky poured every bit of strength he had left into pulling on the band, could see Steve straining as well, his teeth gritted as he tugged, willing the band to break.

Thirty seconds. Forty.

Bucky’s arm began to ache, the muscles telling him to stop. _No. Not yet. Come on…_

Fifty seconds. 

A minute.

A yell. Steve. Of exertion or frustration, Bucky wasn’t sure.

_Break, you son of a bitch. Let him go_.

Nearly two minutes had passed, when a loud metallic cracking filled the jet, and the band snapped in two.

Bucky hit the floor with a thud as Steve went stumbling backwards into the jet wall. Shuri was already at Peter’s side, rubbing his shoulders as Peter leaned into Tony, shaking violently.

It took Bucky a moment to realise that he still had the piece of metal clutched in his hands. It looked so ordinary; just a broken piece of silver. “Kid,” he whispered, shuffling forward. “Peter?”

Peter managed to lift his head from where it was buried in Tony’s shoulder, eyes filling with tears when he saw was Bucky was holding. “We can break them,” Bucky breathed. “We’re going to get you out. Now.”

The tears spilled over then. Tony rearranged the kid so he was back in his lap, his legs out in front of him now, borrowing a spare bandage from the first aid kit to wipe Peter’s eyes and nose. The engineer seemed too tired, too hurt to even speak now, but he was rubbing Peter’s arms, forehead leaning against one of his shoulders.

“Are you ready to go again?” Steve asked Bucky. 

Bucky nodded, even though his arm was still aching. “Peter? Are you ready to try the ankles?”

Peter nodded desperately. Tony must have felt the movement, because he wrapped his arms around Peter’s chest and scooted backwards towards the wall of the jet. Every inch looked painful, and he didn’t even object when Steve grabbed him around his waist to avoid his burned shoulder and dragged him the rest of the way there. When he was done, he sat across from Bucky, and they braced their feet together like Bucky and Tony had done before, each grabbing a side of the ankle restraint.

“On three,” Steve said, counting down again before Steve and Bucky pushed their legs against each other and pulled, Peter leaning back into Tony for support as he tried to force his legs apart. This was one was quicker; less than a minute passing before the metal gave way.

Peter leaned back into Tony with a muffled sob as he moved his legs freely for the first time in what Bucky was sure felt like an eternity. Steve laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder with a “You’re doing great, son,” as he caught his breath.

The wrists were trickier. The metal was wrapped around Peter’s hands all the way around his fingers - Bucky suspected now, as he thought about it, to prevent Peter being able to write anything down. There wasn’t an easy way to grip the smooth metal like there had been with the other two.

It was Shuri’s tentative suggestion that they pull on Peter’s upper arms instead. Both of them had baulked at that, but Tony had added weakly, “He’s strong.” With strict instructions that Peter would kick out if either of them started to really hurt him, Steve and Bucky set about trying to wrench Peter’s arms apart. It took the better of five minutes of pulling before a thin crack appeared in the wrist restraints, just above Peter’s left wrist. They went back to pulling with Steve wedging a couple of fingers in the split in the metal for extra leverage, and soon the wrist restraints joined the other broken pieces on the side of the jet.

It took some time for Peter to be able to do anything with his arms except let them hang loosely in front of him, slumping against Tony’s chest, eyes closed. Bucky had almost broken half the plane when he’d seen the bruises that covered every inch of the kid’s hands up to the angry burn marks on both wrists, which had started to blister. Tony wasn’t looking great himself, barely conscious as he refused to let anyone move Peter away from him as Shuri tried to patch him up the best she could with the basic first aid kit.

They all froze when Peter’s hand twitched, and then stretched, as the kid started to regain some feeling. Tony gathered himself then, starting to rub Peter’s arms, encouraging the blood flow. Natasha had dried Peter off the best she could when Steve had dropped him off at the jet with no time for explanations, but without his limbs being free, no one been able to do much else than drape a blanket over him. Shuri retrieved that blanket now but Peter panicked when she came closer, so she backed away, hands raised. “Ok. But…aren’t you cold?”

Peter shook his head, making a small sound deep in his throat. Then he was suddenly clawing at the gag, desperately trying to get it off and batting Tony’s hands away when he made a feeble attempt to stop him.

“Peter!” Bucky went to grab the teenager’s hands to stop him from hurting himself, then hesitated. He wasn’t about to restrain Peter, not when they had just got him free. “Stop! We’ll figure it out, together? Alright?”

Peter’s huge brown eyes met his, tears of frustration and exhaustion slipping down his face. “It is still…” Steve broke off, clearly not wanting to use the word _bomb._

“The explosive will still be inside, even if the detonator is broken,” Shuri said softly. “I don’t know…I don’t think I’d be comfortable trying to remove it outside of my lab.”

Bucky swallowed hard as he looked at Peter. The poor kid must be starving and dehydrated by now, not having had anything except one traumatic force-feeding session, and Wakanda was still hours away.

“Left pocket.”

Everyone turned to look at Tony, who looked like he was fighting to stay awake as he cradled Peter against him. _“Jeans,”_ Tony explained as though it was obvious, a hint of his trademark snark sneaking into the words.

Shuri reached forward and tugged a phone out of Tony’s jeans that was somehow, miraculously, unbroken. “Starkphone,” Tony mumbled. “Made those after…crash landing…Tennessee. Tougher than Nokia.” Bucky was about to ask how a phone was going to help when Tony added, “Fri? Do a scan.”

Bucky jumped as the phone spoke with an Irish accent. “On it, Boss.”

The phone scanned Peter’s head, a yellow holograph appearing over the phone’s display, showing the intricate wiring within the gag. “Shuri?” Tony groaned, his eyes slipping closed. “I think you might be up.”

Shuri gave Tony’s hand a reassuring pat as she took in the hologram. “I can see which wires I’d need to cut. That’s not the hard part.”

“The hard part is getting access,” Steve guessed.

Shuri clucked her tongue in frustration. “Again, at my lab, I could do this in a pinch. Unless…”

Peter’s head whipped around to gaze at her, the hope in his eyes heart-breaking. “I might be able to short it out,” Shuri said softly. “No, I could definitely short it out. Then you could pull it off like the others without triggering the explosive.”

Peter was nodding at her, but still Shuri hesitated. “How big of a shock would it take?” Bucky asked.

Shuri took a shaky breath. “Big. More than a regular human could take. But you’re not a regular human…which we are discussing in extensive detail when we get home, by the way, _Spider-man_. I’m not sure if there’s even anything on board that could do it.”

“Shuri?” Natasha’s voice interrupted them from the cockpit. “Can you fly a plane?”

“In theory. So, yes.”

“Great. Swap with me.”

The two women swapped places as Natasha knelt by Peter’s side. “Hi,” she said in a soft voice. “We’ve kind of met, yeah? Germany?” Natasha shot Tony a look that clearly said _we’ll be discussing that later._ She raised one of her wrists, causing a sharp inhale from Steve.

“Nat…are you sure?”

“It’s Peter’s choice.” Natasha came closer, showing Peter her Widow’s Bites. “From one spider to another let me tell you - these pack a sting. I can use them now and we can see if we can get that thing off your mouth. Or, you can wait until we’re back in Shuri’s lab, and she can remove it, probably more safely, and without shocking you. It’s completely your call, ok? Nod for now; shake for later.”

Peter glanced at Tony, who had forced his eyes open again. “If you’re asking me, I’d rather you’d wait,” he wheezed. “Play it safe. But like Nat said…it’s your call, ok?”

Peter considered. And then nodded.

“Figures. Because when did you ever listen to me,” Tony grumbled, but there was no spite in the words, just resignation. He offered Peter his hand.

“Tony,” Natasha said gently. “He can’t be touching anyone when I do this. You’d get electrocuted too.”

“Don’t care,” Tony muttered, but Peter was already pushing away from him, staggering a little. Steve reached out and caught him, then helped him to the ground beside Natasha. Natasha hovered a bite above Peter’s head, the teenager flinching as it fired up. “Sure?” Natasha checked. “Not too late to back out.”

Peter met her gaze with eyes full of resolution, even as his hands shook. “Here.” Bucky scooted forward until he could slide his hand into Peter’s, even as Peter tried to pull away. “It’s fine,” Bucky insisted. “We started this together. Let’s finish this together, ok?”

Before Peter could protest any further, Natasha brought her Widow’s bite in contact with the gag. The teenager’s whole body jerked, his back arching as his nails bit into Bucky’s hand. The second-hand shock was painful, but it seemed to have worked, because the disembodied Irish voice announced, “The threat of detonation has been removed.”

Bucky helped Peter back onto his knees. The kid was already gripping the gag and pulling as Steve and Tony joined, Tony bracing Peter again as Steve and Bucky tugged with all their might. Bucky noticed that blood had started to soak through the bandages on Steve’s hand, but his friend ignored them as they pulled. The gag was thicker than the other restraints, Bucky supposed to be able to contain all the components needed for the bomb, and after three minutes of pulling, nothing happened. 

Nothing happened after four minutes either.

Or five.

Peter let out a muffled yell that was all the motivation Bucky needed to pull even harder and to _keep_ pulling, because _goddamnit_ he wasn’t going to let this kid go through another second of this.

There was a loud crack, that echoed all the way around the plane, and the sound of four collective gasps, and then a silence, broken by a shaking voice.

“M-Mr. Stark?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're nearly there! One more chapter to wrap up all the loose ends.
> 
> Quick note: I refer to all of Ross's response team as men in this story. Not because I'm assuming all soldiers are male or anything like that; but I do think that Ross would think like that, and therefore only hire men for his top response teams. Because fuck you, Ross. You're the worst. 
> 
> Unlike you, lovely Reader. You're the best. I bet you did something wonderful today. You know what it was. Good job, you.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok folks. Here it is. The final chapter.
> 
> Firstly, sorry it took so long to post. Three reasons:  
> 1) I've been spending time on another project I am super excited to share with you - more details in the End Notes of this chapter  
> 2) I got a bit caught up in trying to give everyone what they wanted, instead of focussing on what this chapter needed to be, resulting in writer's block  
> 3) And also the world is kind of a scary place right now? Which was distracting - until I let some of what's going on in the States right now bleed into this chapter.
> 
> More on each of those in the end notes. But I've kept you waiting long enough...let's go.

Colonel James Rhodes still wasn’t quite sure how this had become a normal day for him.

The war zones General Ross kept sending Iron Patriot and Vision into had become increasingly harsh and hopeless, even as the two government-sanctioned Avengers fought to do everything they could. Both had more of an interest of saving civilians and protecting precious food and water supplies, but that was often hard to balance with Ross’s continuing pushes for “ _Peace, yesterday!_ ”, as he kept promising the public.

_Easy for you to say,_ Rhodey thought, picturing Ross safe and tucked away in his swanky house in D.C. He tried not to think about Ross too often. It made him want to break things - lots of things.

Rhodey’s reprieves in the States were always sudden and brief. He knew a lot of that was dependent on Tony - not that he had blamed his long-time best friend for a second. Tony had never discussed the work Ross was making him do, but Rhodey knew both too well by now not to know what was going on. It wasn’t hard to see the correlation; that whenever Tony made some improvements to the Raft or attended a particularly cringe-worthy press conference to yet again discuss the damn Sokovia Accords, Rhodey would be granted temporary leave to return home.

Rhodey would have been more than happy for Tony to tell Ross to shove it, even if meant he was stuck out here for good. It wasn’t as if he could do much good out here anyway. Even trying more often than not conflicted with Ross’s direct orders, which Rhodey knew were little to do with actual peace and everything to do with making Ross look good in the press. That was something Ross sorely needed if he was going to keep his seat in office; an outcome that was looking less and less likely as the backlash of the Accords increased, no matter how many times Tony flashed that mega-watt smile and sung Ross’s praises for the cameras.

So when Rhodey and Vision had been given sudden instructions to board a private plane back to D.C., Rhodey had mixed emotions. On the one hand, they had been fighting non-stop for almost three weeks, trying to meet Ross’s ‘quotas’, as the General called them, and he was exhausted - not to mention that his limited communication options within the war zone meant he couldn’t check in on Tony as often as he liked. The constant shadows under the engineer’s eyes had only deepened after his return from Siberia, and no amount of sleep (not that Tony had ever known the meaning of a good night’s rest) seemed to be able to reduce them. And so while Rhodey was relieved at the opportunity for a long-awaited rest and check-in on Tony, the sudden return probably meant that Tony had done Ross yet another ‘favor’.

Still, orders were orders, and Ross was still the Secretary of State, so Rhodey and Vision had boarded the plane sent for them without protest. Several other soldiers came with them, and Vision must have picked up on their obvious unease, because a few minutes into the flight he camouflaged into his human form.

“You don’t have to do that,” Rhodey had told him. “Change for them.”

Vision had just given him a knowing smile. “Battles must be chosen with care. Today, this is not one I choose.”

Rhodey had had half a mind to argue, but the next moment his eyes were shooting open as the plane touched down on the runway. He rubbed his eyes, not even remembering falling asleep, and a saw a young soldier looking down at him. “You’re to meet with General Ross immediately,” the soldier squeaked. Rhodey swore they got younger every year. This kid looked like he was barely out of high school. “A car has been sent for you. And I need your phone for security purposes.”

Rhodey was awake then. The kid looked more than nervous - beads of sweat had formed over his brow. Rhodey glanced around at the other soldiers on the plane. They were all otherwise engaged - in magazines or laptops or faking sleep - but they were all on high alert.

Rhodey readied himself the best he could without being obvious. “What’s going on, kid?”

The soldier’s eyes went wide. “I have orders. I…can I have your phone, please, Colonel?”

“Not all orders should be followed,” Rhodey said, as quietly as he could. “So why don’t you just let me get my phone and -”

He was already reaching for it, but the kid reached faster, pulling a gun and triggering movement all around the cabin. Rhodey managed to grab his phone and set off an emergency alert to Tony as Vision surged forward and knocked the weapon from the soldier’s hands, even as a strange silver disc skittered across the floor to land at the android’s feet.

_“Vis!”_ Rhodey started forward as arcs of lightning wrapped around Vision like a net, but then there were rough hands grabbing his arms, trying to pull them behind his back. Rhodey responded by stomping on a foot, the weight from his leg braces leading to a satisfying cry of pain. He elbowed his second attacker in the ribs as a burst of energy from Vision shook the room, disintegrating the electric net within seconds of it engulfing him.

“Let me guess,” Rhodey grinned. “Hammer tech?”

The grin faded when he felt cool metal against the back of his head. Vision, now back in android form, must have seen it too, because he froze where he stood.

“Don’t make this difficult,” a low voice behind Rhodey said, sounding almost apologetic. “I really don’t want to have to shoot a fellow soldier.”

“Then _don’t_ ,” Rhodey ground out.

“Orders from up top,” was the only answer he got as his hands were forced into tight cuffs behind his back. None of them seemed to want to approach Vision to do the same - not that they would have held the android anyway.

“Go,” Rhodey told Vision, even as the gun pushed harder against his head. To his captors, he said, “If you kill me, there will be nothing to stop him taking you down in three seconds flat.”

There was a pause as Rhodey’s words were considered. Then the gun shifted from his head to his shoulder, the threat of injury clear. Vision raised his hands.

“No,” Rhodey protested. “Vis, _don’t._ ”

Vision just gave him a sad smile. “I offer my complete cooperation with the agreement that you will not harm Colonel Rhodes.”

Things went downhill from there. The ‘car’ that had been sent for them was more like an armoured van, windowless and impenetrable. Well, impenetrable for most. Rhodey wanted to yell in frustration at the ease at which Vision could have broken the vehicle to pieces, but the second they had hauled Rhodey in the van they had cuffed him to the wall, armed guards sitting either side of them, weapons drawn and ready if either of them tried anything.

And if that hadn’t been bad enough, they’d taken his leg braces as well.

Rhodey had tried to swallow the panic as they had wrenched the metal away from his body, realising that even if he somehow managed to disarm and defeat six trained men with his hands cuffed to a wall, he still wouldn’t be able to run.

The ride was short and their captors did little to disguise their route, not even bothering with blindfolds as they dragged Rhodey from the van into blinding sunlight. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that they would at least give him a wheelchair, but they just gripped him under the armpits and hauled him through a back door and corridors he recognized all too well. He had been here enough times to recognize the decor; the military neatness contrasting with the oil paintings of past generals in gaudy gold frames. 

Rhodey didn’t even know what to make of the fact that Ross wasn’t bothered about bringing captives straight into his own house in broad daylight.

They had confiscated his phone, but Rhodey knew that wouldn’t stop Tony from finding a way to get to them. Even as his arms started to ache from the cuffs and the dragging, he wished that Tony wouldn’t come at all. Rhodey didn't doubt that this was a trap, and that Tony would walk right into it, no matter how stupid that move would be.

If the positions were reversed, Rhodey would have done the same in a heartbeat.

It felt like a lifetime before they arrived at their captors’ destination. It was a large office with bay windows that would, in any other scenario, look beautiful as the sun poured in over the thick carpet. But Rhodey wasn’t looking at the view, or the luscious furnishings, or the various art on the walls.

He was glaring up into the face of General Secretary Thaddeus Ross.

“Rhodes,” Ross said by way of greeting. The general looked worn to the bone, pale and thin, his eyes bloodshot. Rhodey spared no pity for him, but his ill state signalled that something had gone very, very wrong. Something Rhodey had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to be paying the price for.

Ross’s eyes darted to Vision and widened. “Why is the android not restrained?

“It appears Mr Hammer’s designs were ineffective,” Vision replied evenly, and Rhodey’s lips twitched. “I am cooperating in return for Colonel Rhodes’s safety. If his safety is compromised, that deal will be void.”

Ross actually flinched. He had seen Vision in action only a handful of times, but it was clear that that was enough. He snapped his fingers and two of his men flanked Rhodey, guns drawn and ready. Rhodey rolled his eyes in a manner that would have made Tony proud. “He’s not going to do it.”

Ross turned his attention back to Rhodey, not comprehending. “Tony,” Rhodey clarified. “Whatever you’re trying to get him to do. He’ll find a way around whatever you have planned; he always does. You won’t outsmart him, Ross.”

Ross’s face turned dark. “Such admiration for a man who apparently couldn’t care less about you. I told him if he crossed me that your arrest would be the consequence. And here you are.”

“Good,” Rhodey snapped back. “I’m glad he’s finally out from under your thumb.”

“Even if it means you and the android will spend the rest of your lives staring at a stone wall?”

“I doubt Hammer built something that could contain Vis for longer than five seconds. You can’t keep a gun to my head forever.”

“Yes, I’m sure a rogue Stark robot killing the Secretary of State in his own home is really going to sell with the public.”

Vision didn’t shift from his normal polite tone. “Rest assured, I would have several ways of subduing you without resorting to violence, General Secretary.”

“Maybe I’ll give Stark a second chance,” Ross mused. “Fix up a special containment unit on the Raft for the android in return for keeping you somewhat intact, Rhodes.”

“He won’t do it.”

“You think? He already set one up for Rogers and Barnes. Or did you not know about that?”

Rhodey swallowed as he tried to keep his face neutral. He knew Ross has been leveraging Tony for months now, but he hadn’t known he’d gone that far. Ross seemed to take his silence as confirmation though because he smirked as he withdrew his phone from his pocket. “Of course there is a still a version of this where you get to walk away. Well, figuratively speaking.” He shot a look at Rhodey’s legs as he said it, making Rhodey’s hands curl into fists. “How much are you really worth to Stark, Rhodes? Are you ready to find out?”

“With all due respect, General? Go to hell.”

Rhodey risked a look at Vision as Ross started to dial. The guards had given the android a wide berth, but unfortunately that meant they were all clustered around Rhodey. And Rhodey didn’t want to get shot, obviously, but the idea of Ross using him to get Tony back under his control after Tony had finally gotten out -

The phone started to ring. Rhodey cursed under his breath, praying that Tony wouldn’t pick up.

“Ross.”

This time Rhodey’s curse was audible. Ross just smirked as him as he held the phone out, on speaker, and said, “You disobeyed direct orders, Stark.”

“Yeah, well, I was never really a “follow orders” type. Got to stay true to brand, right? By the way, did you like my little edition to your home movie? Hope I didn’t mess too much with your creative integrity and all.”

_Home movie? What the hell had Tony done?_ “I was damn clear what would happen if you didn’t follow instructions, Stark.” Ross crossed the room and held the phone out to Rhodey. “Say hi, Rhodes.”

Rhodey just glared at him. “James?” Tony’s voice crackled over the phone. “I know you’re probably doing the brave and stoic “I won’t give you a thing” bit right now, but I need to know if you’re ok.”

Rhodey forced himself not to react. Tony never used his first name- he had been Rhodey(or Platypus or Honeybear or Sourpatch or whatever other ridiculous name tumbled out of his best friend’s mouth) since their MIT days. It was part of a code he and Tony had come up with for hostage situations shortly after Afghanistan. _James = I have an escape plan._

“I’m fine,” Rhodey said shortly. “Relatively speaking.” 

_Relatively speaking = I’m saying this at gunpoint._

“Let me guess,” Tony continued before Ross could speak. “You want to me to undo going public with your little plan to take out me and frame Rogers. And say what - your wonderfully evil phone call back in Utah was a hoax?”

“It’ll be more eloquently worded, but yes. Once I’m satisfied the damage you caused to this great country - ”

“Oh _fuck off._ ”

“- has been undone, I’ll release Rhodes back to you unharmed.”

“No you won’t,” Rhodey said quietly, but it was loud enough that Ross heard. His little smile confirmed it; it didn’t matter what Tony did - Rhodey wasn’t going home.

“I guess we should arrange a meeting,” Tony’s voice came over the phone. “Even out the last few details, right? I’m thinking your place, and I’m thinking roundabout… _now_.”

On the final word, the ridiculous bay window burst into a storm of shattered glass as a blur of red and gold landed hard in front of Ross, and Rhodey couldn’t help but grin even as one of the guns aimed at him made contact with his temple.

The suit’s helmet retracted (an older model, Rhodey noted - _where was the nanotech version?_ ) - revealing Tony’s exhausted, scratched up, furious face as he aimed his repulser straight at Ross’s heart. He shot Rhodey a look of _don’t worry,_ _I’ll get you out of this_ , before addressing Ross. “Has anyone told you lately that your security needs some work?”

Vision moved silently to Tony’s side, ready to fight. “Tony.”

“Always good to see you, Vis. We should catch up after this. Go for coffee. God, I could _really_ go for a coffee.” Tony glanced back at the window as though only just realising it was broken. “Whoops. Not sure how you’re going to explain _that_ to the masses. Not that you’ll get a chance to. What with the massive amounts of jail time coming your way and all.”

“The only one who will be spending their days in a cell is _you_ ,” Ross seethed. “With the rest of the dangerous criminals that dare call themselves heroes and -”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony waved him off. “We’ve heard the villainous monologue already, no need for a repeat.”

“Villainous?” Ross let out a bark of laughter. “You think _I’m_ the villain? I’m the one keeping this country safe from vigilantes and mutants and _freaks_ who threaten our national security; our very way of life.”

“You handed a teenager over to an unstable scientist with the intention of using him as a lab rat and then _murdering him._ That’s a pretty solid definition of ‘the bad guy’.”

“And where is he now, Stark? Because wherever you’ve stashed him, I can guarantee you it won’t be safe enough if you don’t start falling in line.”

A dark expression flashed across Tony’s face. “You’re not getting near him ever again,” Tony said in a low voice, the snarky bravado dropped. “It’s _over,_ Ross. You only have two choices left. Surrender and let me walk you out of here to where a lovely jail cell has your name on it or…” The repulser flared.

Ross smirked at him, walking around until he was standing behind Rhodey and laying a hand on his shoulder. Rhodey winced slightly at the unwanted touch, but the gun barrel at his temple warned him not to move. “Any chance you could hurry this along, Tones? New episode of _The Bachelor_ tonight and all - hate to miss it.” He let out a short hiss as Ross’s fingernails dug into his skin through his shirt, making Tony start forward, stopped only when Vision laid a warning hand on his chest.

“Stay where you are, Stark,” Ross warned him. “And why don’t you take off that ridiculous suit while you’re at it.”

“Or,” Tony counter-offered. “You and your little army men here can put away your toys and surrender.”

Ross glared at him. “I have several dozen armed and highly trained men here. Even you and your pet robot can’t take them all.”

“Firstly, beg to differ,” Tony retorted. “Secondly, Vis is not a robot or a pet. And thirdly…shouldn’t said calvary be here by now?”

Ross only had a second to consider that before the door to the office sprung open and Rhodey could hardly believe his eyes as a bearded, tired but determined Steve Rogers burst through it, out of breath, taking in the window. “There was a _door,_ you know.”

“You know me, Cap. All about style.”

“Oh,” Tony grinned at Ross. “Did you think I wouldn’t bring backup for this? How long did it take for you to plough through several dozen armed and so-called highly trained men, Cap? Ten minutes? Five?”

Ross responded by taking the gun pointed at Rhodey’s head into his own hands. “Surrender,” Ross ordered. “Unless you want Rhodes’s blood on your hands.”

“ _Don’t,_ Tones,” Rhodey said quickly. “Take him down.”

“If you shoot him you lose your leverage,” Steve bargained. He’d acquired a gun on the way in, raising it to match Tony’s repulser.

“And what, you’ll shoot me, Rogers?”

“After you were responsible for Bucky being framed _again?_ Yeah, I just might.”

Something like uncertainty passed over Ross’s face, but he didn’t lower his weapon. “You have three seconds to surrender,” Ross snarled, flicking the safety off the gun. Rhodey hated that the sound made him flinch. “You don’t get to win. _People like you don’t get to win_ _.”_

“You don’t want to do this,” Tony warned him.

“Three…”

“ _Ross._ You hurt him, you’re a dead man. Last chance.”

“Two…”

Rhodey forced himself to keep his eyes open, finding reassurance when he met Tony’s eyes, his friend giving him the tiniest of nods. 

“One…”

There was a yell and a splatter of something hot and warm and for one terrifying second Rhodey was sure that Ross had shot him and he was dead. Then metal arms were around him and pulling him away across the lush carpet, before a human hand was on his cheek, making him look up. “Rhodes? Rhodey? Are you ok?”

The world seemed to come back into focus as Rhodey registered Ross on the ground, clutching a bleeding hand as Steve stood guard over him, Vision easily taking out the rest of the soldiers in the room. _“Rhodey!_ ”

The panic in Tony’s voice brought Rhodey back to the present. “Fine,” he panted, which was enough it seemed for Tony to let go of his cheek and focus instead on snapping apart the handcuffs. “I’m fine.” He managed to pull in a deep breath. “Cutting it a bit fine there, Tones.”

“Yeah, well, you know how these things go. Down to the wire, and everything.”

Rhodey rubbed his chaffed wrists, as Tony came back in his view again. Up close, he could now see that his friend was in rough shape, the scrapes and cuts that littered his face looking fresh, his pupils larger than they should be. “Jesus, Tones, what happened to you?”

”The usual. Bad guys. An explosion.”

”How are you even walking?

”That would be the drugs.”

Rhodey looked over to Steve. “What about...”

The super-soldier acknowledged him, and then Vision, with a nod. “Hi.”

“Yeah, hi, I guess,” Rhodey replied, still trying to catch his breath as Vision added, “It is good to see you, Captain.”

“Long story,” Tony offered. “To be told over drinks. Many, multiple, stupid amounts of drinks. For now, we have to get to Wakanda.”

“Wakanda? Why Wak- STEVE!”

Steve barely had time to sidestep Ross’s sudden lunge for him, only to realise too late it was a feint as Ross snatched a gun from one of the fallen soldiers instead. Tony’s repulser was already raised, ready to fire, but when Ross aimed the gun, it wasn’t at Steve.

He brought it up under his own chin.

Steve was faster. He knocked the gun aside and the shot went wild, firing into the ceiling as Steve wrestled the gun from Ross’s grip and cast it aside. Ross let out a dark laugh even as he fell back to his knees, clutching his bleeding hand. Rhodey could register now that it was a bullet wound he was cradling, although it would have been an impossible shot for Steve to have made. So who had fired the gun? Rhodey cast a glance out the shattered window. If it had been a sniper, they would have to have had almost impossibly accurate aim.

Ross was still laughing, although there was no mirth in it. “Always trying to play the hero, right Rogers? Let’s get something straight. You were never a hero. You were a poster boy they filled full of chemicals, and then you couldn’t even get _that_ right.”

“I didn’t save you.”

The room’s attention was on Steve now, and Rhodey realised he’d never seen the soldier so angry before. He had always suspected Steve had a bit of temper, that he had learned to keep a tight lid on it, but now it was beginning to spill over. “It’s not whether I think you should die or not,” Steve clarified. “That’s not up for me say. But what I do think is that you deserve to face justice. You get to face up to everything you’ve done - to Bucky, to Tony, to Peter, to Shuri, to _Bruce_ \- to every other person that you’ve hurt and for what, power? Because you can give all the speeches you want about protecting the country from people who are _different,_ about saving when all you’re doing is destroying. I’ve heard every one of those arguments before, and you know what? I’ll probably hear them again. And I’ll keep fighting them, Ross - every one of them who came before you and every one that comes after who strives for power and calls it peace.”

A silence fell over the room that was eventually broken by a low whistle. Rhodey turned to see Tony watching Steve, and Steve suddenly looked self-conscious. “What, too much?”

When Tony replied, it wasn’t the snarky response or quip Rhodey was expecting.Instead was a sincerity that Rhodey had only heard from his best friend a handful of times before.

“Welcome back, Cap.”

***

When Peter woke, he couldn’t move.

Pain shot through his jaw as he tried to open it, desperately trying to free his arms from where they trapped by his sides. He kicked out and felt the resistance around his legs strain and then tear before the world gave out from underneath him and he was falling.

The collision with a soft carpet was enough to jerk Peter fully awake. He scrambled onto his knees, feeling more resistance than he should have as he wrenched his hands away from their restraints, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. He made out the outline of a four-poster bed in a room he didn’t recognise and _where was his suit and -_

The door burst open and Peter cried out as light filled his vision, too sudden and too bright. He threw his hands up to use web-shooters that weren’t there as he scrambled backwards into a bedside table, vaguely aware of a figure approaching him.

“Stay back,” he panted, still blinded. “Don’t touch…don’t.”

The figure halted. “Peter.” _He knew that voice._ “No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

_Safe?_

“Do you know where you are?”

Peter shook his head, heart rate still climbing and oh god why couldn’t he _breathe-_

A hesitant hand found Peter’s shoulder, then vanished as the contact made Peter flinch. “ _Peter._ You’re in Wakanda.”

_Wakanda?_

“It was just a nightmare, kid. You’re ok. You’re safe."

Slowly, Peter’s heart went from racing to just pounding in his chest, his thoughts becoming coherent enough to realise that his danger sense hadn’t been alerted; no hairs standing up on the back his neck, no sixth sense telling him that something bad was coming. His eyes were readjusting now, making out features on the figure kneeling by his side, hand hovering, ready to help but waiting for permission. “Sergeant Barnes?”

“Yeah, kid. Do you know where you are?”

This time, Peter answered. “Wakanda.” He was in Wakanda, with Shuri and T’Challa and Bucky. Heather was dead. His limbs were free. He was safe.

Peter took a steadying breath as he looked at the bed, the fine sheets now in tatters on the floor. “I think…I think I got tangled in the bedsheets.” His face turned scarlet with embarrassment. He was in a _palace_ ; those sheets probably cost more than May made in a month. “Stupid,” he muttered, horrified to find that his eyes were filling with tears. He wiped them away hastily. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Bucky said in a low voice. His hand was still outstretched, hesitant. “It’s not stupid at all, kid.”

“Probably expensive,” Peter muttered, going to wipe his nose on his sleeve. Bucky reached up to the bedside table, clearly relieved to have something helpful to do, and retrieved a box of tissues.

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled into the tissues, still trying to blink out the dots in front of his eyes. Bucky frowned, confused, then glanced over to the open bedroom door which was allowing light to flood the room.

“Shit,” he groaned. “I overloaded your senses.”

“It’s fine.”

“I heard you cry out and didn’t think. Sorry, kid.” Bucky was already pulling the rest of the sheets off as Peter clocked that Bucky was fully dressed. He looked down at his own faded Star Wars pyjamas (the one item of clothing he hadn’t allowed Tony to replace for the trip) and felt a fresh surge of embarrassment. Bucky looked around the room for something, frowning when he didn’t see it. “Do you want some water? I can get you some.”

Peter nodded, and Bucky rose to fill a cup from the tap in the en suite bathroom. Peter pulled himself onto the edge of the bed, pulling a blanket over the mortifying pyjamas as Bucky returned with the water. Peter’s hands were still shaking as he downed it.

Tony had stayed with Peter in Wakanda as long as he could. The day Peter had been rescued, Tony had apologised profusely as Black Widow dropped him, Bucky, and Captain America in Washington to take care of Ross before taking Peter and Shuri back to Wakanda, promising to be by his side again as soon as he could be. Peter had slept through most of that anyway, the exhaustion from the day’s events (had it really only been a day?), before waking to the barrage of news that the Secretary of State had been arrested and was awaiting trial in a maximum-security prison.

Tony had offered to fly Peter back to Queens immediately, but Peter had asked to stay in Wakanda a little longer instead. While the muscles in his shoulders and bruises around his hands and jaw had repaired themselves in a few hours once Shuri saw to it that Peter was properly fed and hydrated, the burn marks around his wrists and ankles were taking longer to heal. And while Peter reckoned he could probably hide those from May, he knew the recurring nightmares would be a whole different story.

He had thought the dreams had been receding. After being woken by one his first night back in Wakanda, Tony had set up on the large couch in Peter’s luxurious suite, ignoring Peter’s protests. “If Karen is going to wake me up telling me to come because you’re in distress at 2 am, I might as well be already here, right?” And as much as Peter had complained and protested, he had been sincerely thankful to have a familiar hand to latch onto when he woke in the middle of the night after dreaming of a molten hand reaching for his face.

But eventually, even Tony had to admit that he couldn’t stay away from the States any longer. He had been doing the best he could over satellite calls and working with Pepper and the Stark Industries PR team, but the absence of Iron Man on American soil was causing confusion, suspicion and panic.

“It’s ok, Mr Stark,” Peter had assured his mentor for what felt like the eightieth time. “I’m ok.”

Tony had run his hand through his hair as his plane waited for him to take off. He shot a look towards where Captain America had boarded only a few minutes earlier. Peter hadn’t seen the two heroes together since they had alighted the jet in Washington but knew that at some point they had agreed to return to the States to sort out the Accords together, with T’Challa acting as a buffer between them.

“Call me,” Tony instructed Peter. “I mean it. The second anything happens -”

“Nothing’s going to happen!”

“The second you need anything. _Anything,_ ok? You call.”

“I will.”

Tony pulled Peter into a rough hug that softened when Peter wrapped his arms around Tony’s shoulders. Tony squeezed him tight for just a second before stepping back, dropping his signature sunglasses over his eyes. “Don’t break anything in that lab.”

Peter allowed himself to smile. “No promises.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” For a moment, Tony looked like he was going to say something else, but he just nodded and made to leave.  
“Mr Stark?”

Tony paused, and Peter tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He had been meaning to ask for days, but Tony had had so much on his plate, he had felt guilty adding to it. “Spit it out, kid, I got royalty waiting for me.”

Peter glanced to one side to see T’Challa and Shuri having a similar conversation. T’Challa glanced at the guards either side of Shuri, unsure. Peter didn’t blame him. Everyone was on edge since one of the Dora Milaje had confessed to betraying them after Ross had taken her younger sister, who was visiting the States at the time, as leverage. The offending soldier had confessed after learning that her sister had ended up being another casualty, last seen by Bucky behind the wheel of a wrecked car as he had tried to get away with Peter.

“Kid?” Tony pressed him.

_Ok. Here we go._ “It’s just, if you’re amending the Accords…” Peter shuffled his feet, unsure, before it all came spilling out. “I don’t want to have to reveal my identity when I’m twenty-one.”

He saw Tony freeze, and hurried on. “There was a moment, when I was in Heather’s lab…and she said she knew I was Spider-man, and that she knew where I went to school and where I lived with May and I know you said it would only be government officials who would know but Ross was the Secretary of State and he turned out to be one of the bad guys so -”

He was cut off as Tony’s hand gripped his shoulder, although gently, even though they had healed days ago. “Slow down, kiddo.”

“And I don’t want to give up being Spider-man but I don’t want to put anyone in danger either. Not May or Ned or MJ or -”

Tony removed his sunglasses. “ _Peter._ Listen.”

Peter’s heart sank. He knew he shouldn’t have asked. Tony already had so much he needed to argue for - getting the rogues not only pardoned but reinstated as Avengers, convincing the UN to not arrest him for breaking the Accords by coming after Peter, not to mention all the changes to the Accords that he and T’Challa had been working on for months now. Peter had no right to ask for something else on top of all that.

“Consider it done.”

The racing monologue in Peter’s head slammed to a stop. “Wait. Really?”

“If I had an option to prevent everyone who’s ever gotten hurt because of me being Iron Man…” Tony broke off to run a hand over his forehead; a sign Peter had come to recognise as fighting off a particularly bad memory. “Pepper, Rhodey, Happy…kid, I _never_ wanted you to be on that list.”

Peter had imagined this conversation a dozen different ways, but hadn’t expected this. “But what happened with Ross and Heather - that wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was,” Tony said, his voice low. “Ross needed me to be his dancing monkey, Hansen wanted revenge, and you were the key to both of them getting that from me. And you shouldn’t have been. I should have seen it coming, I should have done _more_ -”

“Mr Stark, you saved me.”

Tony gave him a sad smile. “The ambulance. Not the fence.” Peter opened his mouth to protest further but Tony cut him off. “I’m giving you what you want, kid. Secret identity stays intact as long as you want. Consider it done.”

“I mean I know you can’t promise what goes in the Accords and -”

“I said, _consider it done_. I’ll run for office myself if I have to. Or maybe I can convince Rhodey to. Maybe actually get some decent politicians in office for once.”

Tony clapped Peter on the shoulder, noting a signal from T’Challa that they had to get going. “If anything happens- “

“I’ll call. I promise.”

“See that you do. Or I’ll have May after me, and that’s more terrifying than any megalomaniac politician ever could be.”

Shuri had slipped her arm around Peter’s as the plane took her brother and his mentor to the skies. Peter had looked around then, looking for the person who he thought would have been there to send off Captain Rogers, but he was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Peter hadn’t seen Bucky since he had left with the others to take down Ross.

Until now.

“Do you want another glass?” Bucky asked as Peter finished the water, but the teenager shook his head.

“I’m fine. Thanks.” Now that he was more aware of his surroundings and the shaking had abated, Peter registered Bucky’s defensive stance, one eye on the open door. “Sergeant Barnes? Are you ok?”

Bucky’s lips twisted in a confused smile. “I haven’t been a sergeant for seventy years. And I think after everything we went through together you can call me Bucky, yeah?”

“Ok.” Peter placed the glass to one side, eyes following Bucky’s when they darted out the door again. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah.” Bucky was already standing, still looking at Peter with concern. He looked torn between staying and running out the door.

“I’m fine,” Peter repeated. “It was just a nightmare.”

“It’s never just a nightmare,” Bucky said, almost under his breath. He glanced at the door one more time, then seemed to come to a decision. “I can leave if you want to go back to sleep.”

Peter shuddered. “Not really.”

“Then…we can try something else. It’s easier if I show you, although you might want to get dressed.”

Five minutes later, Peter was following Bucky through the quiet halls of the Wakandan palace, not sure where they were headed except for up. Bucky was tense for every step of their journey, glancing in every empty doorway as though he expected them to be attacked at any moment. Peter almost told him that he would sense danger before it came, and he wasn’t sensing anything right now, but Bucky raised a finger to his lips and pointed upwards; a gesture Peter didn’t understand until he had followed Bucky up a particularly steep flight of stairs and emerged onto the roof of the Wakandan palace.

Peter’s breath fell away. The night sky was a labyrinth of shining stars, stretching as far as Peter could see without a single building blocking the view. He turned to see Bucky grinning at him, illuminated by the half-moon, as he settled down on the roof and motioned for Peter to join him. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the view, before Bucky spoke first.

“Shuri took as much as she could out of my head,” he said quietly. “All of Hydra’s programming, the triggers, the Winter Soldier on and off switch.” He fiddled with the hem of his jacket. “But she couldn’t take away the memories.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Peter could think of to say.

“Nightmares are our brains trying to process all the horror while our guards are down,” Bucky continued. “And you can wait for them to go away, but really the only way to get rid of them - or lessen them, at least - is to process them in the daylight.”

“Like…therapy?”

“Sure.”

“But…” Peter looked around for the words. “I mean, what happened to me…it wasn’t that bad. It barely lasted a day and yeah, it like, really sucked, but I got out unharmed and Heather is gone and Ross is in jail and -”

“Peter.” Bucky was looking at him with narrowed eyes. “It doesn’t matter how long it lasted or if you’ve recovered physically or if the people who hurt you can’t do it ever again. Trauma is trauma and -”

“ _Trauma?_ ”

“I just want to make sure…” Bucky ran his hand through his hair in such a similar way to a frustrated Tony that Peter did a double-take. “I just want to make sure that you’re talking to someone. Doesn’t have to be me, or anything. But it can be - if that helps.”

“What you went through lasted seventy years -”

“It’s not a competition. Ok yes, it was less than a day but Jesus kid, in that day you were…all the things that happened to you, that I did to you -”

“Woah, woah, wait. _You_ did to me? You were protecting me.”

Bucky let out a huff of frustration. “I put you in the trunk of a car, let that woman force-feed you, tied you down next to a buzzsaw for crying out loud -”

“You were trying to help. You _were_ helping.”

“I hurt you,” Bucky said softly.

“Sergeant Barnes…Bucky,” Peter corrected. “You gave yourself up to save me. I…I wanted to say thank you, for ages, but I didn’t see you since the plane and I figured you wanted to be left alone so, um…thank you.”

“Wasn’t enough,” Bucky muttered.

“You sound like Tony,” Peter grumbled, catching Bucky by surprise. “He basically said the same thing before he and Captain America left this morning.”

“You know you can call him Steve. He’d tell you that himself except…” Bucky broke off.

“I get it. He’s busy, with the Accords and Ross and -” He broke off at the strange look Bucky was giving him. “What?”

“He’s not too busy to see you. Neither was I.”

Peter frowned. “Then…why?”

“I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

Peter groaned. “You can’t say that. That’s not fair.”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth twitched before his expression turned serious again. “Stark - Tony - was pretty clear that I was to stay as far away from you as possible.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “What? But…why? You protected me, and you saved Colonel Rhodes, and you nearly _died_ saving him -”

Bucky held up his hand. “I know. _He_ knows.”

“Then why? I know he and Captain America had a big fight and it was, you know, _bad,_ and I guess you were on Captain America’s side and everything but after everything that happened -”

Bucky cut him off. “Does Tony ever talk about Siberia?”

Peter frowned. “No. What’s in Siberia?”

“Less what’s in and more like what happened in.” Bucky seemed to choose his next words very carefully. “We fought. It was bad.”

“About the Accords?”

“No,” Bucky said shortly. “Something worse. And what that was _really_ isn’t my place to say. If Tony wants to tell you, that’s his decision. But I wish we hadn’t. Fought, that is. He came to help,” he added quietly. “He came to help Steve. And then…and then we should have talked it out. But we didn’t.”

“What does that have to do with Mr Stark wanting you to stay away from me?”

Bucky was silent for several moments before answering. “Like I said,” he settled on saying. “Trauma doesn’t go away overnight. But I knew he was leaving this morning and I knew you had been sharing a room with him because you’d been having nightmares…” He shrugged. “I know more than I'd like to about nightmares. And I didn’t want you to be alone if you woke up from one.”

_“Were you outside my bedroom?”_  


Bucky flashed him a sheepish grin. “I was nearby. Just in case.”

“Ok. A little creepy. But I was glad you were,” he added in a small voice. “I have nightmares about…about a lot of it. And other things.” He shuddered as he remembered the weight of a building pressing down on him, crushing his lungs, _of not being able to move…_

“Peter? What other things?”

“Just…you know, hero stuff. Hazards of the job.”

“Do you talk to Tony about it?”

“Yeah. I mean, sometimes. But he’s busy.” _And I don’t want him to know when I fail._

Bucky nodded slowly. “You remind me so much of Stevie.”

Peter blinked, unsure whether to be more thrown by being compared to Captain America or by hearing him being called _Stevie._

“More times than not he would come home with a black eye or a swollen lip,” Bucky continued. “And he’d say that he was fine. That someone had to stand up to whoever the bully of the week was. He would never tell me who had done it; didn’t want me fighting his battles. And yet he was perfectly happy to fight everybody else’s. Still is.”

“That’s brave.”

Bucky shrugged. “Some battles need to be fought, yeah. Others can be…sidestepped.” He shook his head. “That wasn’t my point. Just don’t let that stuff bottle up inside of you. And I’m sure if you talked to him, Tony would listen. Steve would never tell me the full story because he didn’t want me to see him as weak, but I never did. I would never see Steve as weak; he’s the strongest person I know. And I’ve seen you and Tony together - it’s obvious he thinks the same about you.”

Peter was glad the darkness was covering up his blazing cheeks. “Thanks,” he said in a quiet voice. “That means…” _Everything._ “A lot.”

“And you can talk to me too, if you want.”

“Same here,” Peter replied. “If you need someone to talk to while Captain- um, Steve - is overseas. Sorting out the Accords and all that.”

“And all that,” Bucky repeated. “That’s one hell of a mess that needs to be cleaned up.”

“You wish you could be there with them?”

Bucky shrugged. “Best thing I can do is stay here, out of their way.”

“Are he and Mr Stark going to be ok?”

“That’s going to take some time. A lot of time, and a lot of conversations, before and after the Accords get rectified. But I hope so,” he added, sounding like he meant it. Then he suddenly sat upright, expectant. “Oh. Here we go. You ready?”

Peter frowned, looking around the rooftop. “For what?”

“You’ll see.”

Just then, the sun peaked over the horizon, staining the Wakanda landscape gold. The tops of the trees turned a bright amber as the sun climbed higher into the skies, illuminating the lush forests with morning light.

“They say the sunsets here are the most beautiful in the world,” Bucky said quietly. Peter looked over at him and, for the first time, saw something close to peace on the soldier’s face. “But I think the sunrises got them beat.”

Peter looked out at the golden paradise, feeling the morning breeze caress his face, and couldn’t help but agree.

** THE END  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And fin. WOW. Thank you for reading. Thank you for kudos. Thank you for commenting. Your support throughout this fic, which is the longest and most ambitious thing I've ever written, has meant more than I can put into words. Thank you for coming with me on this journey. It's been a long and hard one but we made it to the end at last.
> 
> And now for what I was talking about in the beginning notes:
> 
> 1) The Other Project  
> I HAVE RELEASED MY FILM AND SCREENWRITING PODCAST. It's called "Kill the Cat", you can find it on YouTube, Spotify, or anywhere you listen to podcasts. If you liked what you read and want to hear a bit more about what I hope I know about the writing craft, you can check out our first episode on Harry Potter and the art of world-building on any podcast platforms now - and yes we will be going into some Marvel movies dowe the line. The episodes also have links to my social media if you want to say hi! 
> 
> 2) Getting caught up in writer's block  
> There were so many more things I wanted to put into this story, but it wasn't to be. I know some readers were hoping for some more Steve and Tony or Steve and Bucky scenes here, or more of other characters - and believe me, I tried. But in the end, this started as a story about Peter and Bucky, and that's how it had to end. If you've seen any of my other work you'll see that I joke about being controlled by what I call my "writer's brain" but what I really mean by that is that innate instinct inside you that drives you where a story needs to go. And this is where this chapter needed to go, and this is where this story needed to end. I have other stories planned that dig deeper into those other relationships; this just wasn't the place to expand on them further. And as Bucky says in this - trauma doesn’t go away overnight. It felt dishonest and cheap for them all to just get along after one mission together. That comes from talking - a lot of talking. I have some of that planned in future fics; it just didn’t belong in this one. 
> 
> 3) Let's all support each other, yeah?  
> The world is a scary place right now - for some more than others. And yes this was a story about some of our fan favourites bonding and making up and having adventures but it was also meant to be a story about communication. Because when we don't talk to each other - or allow those around to talk - everyone loses, and the Ross's of the world win.
> 
> Can I just say if you read this far down my notes you're amazing? If you read this whole story you're amazing. For more Civil War Fix-Its and feels come check out "The One Where Scott is Steve's Weakness" which I'll be finishing off next! Thank you for reading, thank you for contributing to this amazing fandom, and thank you for being you. It's an important job, and you're doing it flawlessly.


	16. Fanart (Whispering Imp)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come check out this amazing fanart by [Whispering Imp](https://whispering-imp.tumblr.com/post/629249383558447104/commission-for-jinxquickfoot-thank-you-so-much)!


	17. Fanart (The Unfortunate Cat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come check out this amazing fanart by [The Unfortunate Cat!](https://www.deviantart.com/theunfortunatecat)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the original on [Deviant Art](https://www.deviantart.com/theunfortunatecat/art/Hostage-Situation-868244375?ga_submit_new=10%3A1611602327)

**Author's Note:**

> So hey, I have this film and screenwriting podcast? It's called "Kill the Cat" and once a month my co-host and I and break down one of our favourite movies or tv shows and look at why they work, including Harry Potter, The Princess Bride, Brooklyn Nine-Nine and, of course, the MCU.
> 
> You can check it out on [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ypaen3yM5Q&t=1s&ab_channel=KilltheCatPodcast), [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/show/5hCprc9UCBZP4srFrBXKT1?si=ZOqdhMlVQvqV2fG5PxuvOA), or anywhere you listen to podcasts. 
> 
> And hey. You're doing great.
> 
> [Come say hi on Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jinxquickfoot)


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